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Edited  by  WALTER  C.  BRONSON 


ENGLISH  POEMS 

OLD     ENGLISH     AND     MIDDLE 
ENGLISH  PERIODS 

THE  ELIZABETHAN   AGE   AND 
THE  PURITAN   PERIOD 

THE  RESTORATION    AND  THE 
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THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURY 

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AMERICAN  PROSE 


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KARL  W.  HIERSEMANN 


AMERICAN  PROSE 

(1607-1865) 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED,  WITH  ILLUSTRATIVE  AND 
EXPLANATORY   NOTES   AND  A  BIBLIOGRAPHY 


BY 


WALTER  C.   BRONSON,  LITT.D. 

Professor  of  English  Literature,  Brown  University 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO  PRESS 
CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


COPYRIGHT  igi6  BY 
THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Published  July  1916 


Composed  and  Printed  By 

The  University  of  Chicago  Press 

Chicago.  Illinois.  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

This  book  is  a  companion  volume  to  American  Poems,  and 
like  that  is  intended  chiefly  for  use  in  schools  and  colleges. 
The  selections  from  American  prose  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries  are  expected  to  supply  all  the  reading 
in  these  periods  that  most  classes  will  need;  they  have  been 
chosen  for  their  historical  significance  as  well  as  their  literary 
interest,  and  represent  the  various  phases  of  American  life  in 
colonial  and  revolutionary  times.  The  selections  from  the 
prose  of  the  nineteenth  century  are  limited  to  tales,  essays, 
and  orations  by  the  greater  writers,  and  stop  with  the  end  of  the 
Civil  War;  this  limitation  of  scope  has  made  it  possible  to  in- 
clude ample  material  for  classroom  study  and  much  for  outside 
reading,  in  the  chief  authors,  and  in  most  cases  to  print  complete 
works.  It  may  be  especially  noted  that  the  speeches  by  Cal- 
houn,  Webster,  and  Lincoln  afford  a  basis  for  the  study  of 
American  oratory  in  its  prime,  and  at  a  great  crisis  in  the  history 
of  the  nation. 

The  text  follows  with  scrupulous  care  the  text  of  the  early 
editions.  I  have  reproduced  spelling,  capitalization,  punctu- 
ation, use  of  italics,  etc.,  in  the  belief  that  students  should 
read  even  the  older  works  as  they  originally  appeared,  thus 
becoming  familiar  with  their  flavor  and  atmosphere,  and  gaining 
a  sense  of  the  historical  development  of  language  and  typo- 
graphical usage.  The  interchange  of  i  andy  and  of  u  and  »  has 
not  been  kept,  however,  because  it  is  confusing  to  inexperienced 
readers;  and  obvious  misprints,  and  a  few  eccentricities  of 
punctuation  and  capitalization  that  obscured  the  thought,  have 
been  corrected. 

The  explanatory  notes  are  few  and  brief,  dealing  only  with 
points  of  real  difficulty  to  students  of  average  intelligence.  The 
illustrative  notes  consist  mainly  of  specimens  of  contemporary 


2041883 


vi  PREFACE 


criticism  on  writers  of  the  nineteenth  century;  they  have  been 
collected  from  many  sources,  and  show  the  impression  made  at 
home  and  abroad  by  the  most  famous  American  authors  during 
their  lifetime. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Champlin  Burrage,  librarian 
of  the  John  Carter  Brown  Library  at  Brown  University,  and  to 
his  assistants,  for  aid  in  utilizing  the  resources  of  that  unique 
collection  of  Americana;  to  Librarian  Harry  L.  Koopman  and 
his  staff,  for  facilitating  my  use  of  the  Brown  University  Library; 
and  to  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  and  Mr.  J.  S.  Bassett,  for 
permission  to  print  extracts  from  the  copyright  edition  of 
William  Byrd's  works.-  My  wife  has  been  co-editor  of  the  book, 
helping  in  the  choice  of  material,  aiding  in  the  collation  of  texts, 
preparing  the  copy,  making  the  indices,  and  sharing  in  the  labor 
of  reading  the  proofs. 

W.  C.  B. 

LA  JOLLA,  CALIFORNIA 
April  6,  1916 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE 


JOHN  SMITH 

From  A  True  Relation       . .     .     .     .         i 

From  A  Map  of  Virginia 4 

WILLIAM  BRADFORD 

From  Of  Plimoth  Plantation 

The  Pilgrims'  Search  for  a  Harbor 7 

The  First  Whiter n 

Ungodly  Doings  at  Merry  Mount 14 

THOMAS  MORTON 

From  New  English  Canaan 16 

JOHN  WINTHROP 

A  Puritan  to  His  Wife 17 

From  The  History  of  New  England 

A  Theological  Commonwealth    .  19 

A  Colonial  Schoolmaster 20 

Anti-Episcopal  Mice 23 

Divine  Discipline 23 

Heresy  Punished  • 24 

Preternatural  Phenomena 25 

A  Puritan  Blue-Stocking 25 

Witchcraft .  26 

The  Snake  in  the  Synod 27 

The  Special  Hand  of  God 28 

THOMAS  SHEPARD 

From  The  Sincere  Convert 29 

ROGER  WILLIAMS 

From  The  Bloudy  Tenent  of  Persecution  for  Cause  of  Conscience 

From  The  Preface 33 

The  Answer  of  Mr.  John  Cotton  of  Boston  in  New-England      34 
A  Reply  to  the  Aforesaid  Answer  of  Mr.  Cotton  in  a  Con- 
ference betweene  Truth  and  Peace 36 

vii 


viil  CONTENTS 


NATHANIEL  WARD 

From  The  Simple  Cobler  of  Aggawam 

The  Impious  Doctrine  of  Toleration 42 

Women's  Fashions  and  Long  Hair  on  Men 46 

JOHN  MASON 

From  A  Brief  History  of  the  Pequot  War 50 

MARY  ROWLANDSON 

From  A  Narrative  of  the  Captivity 54 

INCREASE  MATHER 

From  An  Essay  for  the  Recording  of  Illustrious  Providences 

A  Bewitched  House 63 

Probation  of  Witches  by  Cold  Water 67 

COTTON  MATHER 

From  The  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World 

The  Trial  of  Bridget  Bishop:  alias,  Oliver 71 

From  Magnalia  Christi  Americana 

Captain  Phips's  Search  for  Sunken  Treasure 77 

.      Thomas  Hooker 80 

John  Eliot,  Apostle  to  the  Indians 82 

A  Bewitched  Child 83 

SAMUEL  SEWALL 

From  The  Diary 89 

SARAH  K.  KNIGHT 

From  The  Journal 105 

WILLIAM.  BYRD 

From  History  of  the  Dividing  Line 113 

From  A  Progress  to  the  Mines 119 

JONATHAN  EDWARDS 

The  Sweet  Glory  of  God 122 

From  Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  God 1 24 

From  Enquiry  into  the  Freedom  of  the  Will 128 

JOHN  WOOLMAN 

From  The  Journal 

Slavery 133 

Religious  Scruples  against  Dyed  Garments 134 

A  Spiritual  Vision 136 


CONTENTS 


J.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CRE-VECCEUR 
Letters  from  an  American  Farmer 

From  Letter  III.     What  Is  an  American  ?       .....     138 
Letter  X.    On  Snakes;  and  on  the  Humming  Bird  .     .     .     142 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

From  The  Autobiography 

A  Boyish  Leader i48( 

Learning  to  Write 149 

Entrance  into  Philadelphia 150 

Success  in  Business 151 

Religion 151 

The  Pursuit  of  Moral  Perfection 152 

Whitefield's  Eloquence 155 

Benevolent  Cunning 156 

The  Way  to  Wealth •'.     .     .  158 

The  Ephemera 166 

Dialogue  between  Franklin  and  the  Gout 168 

Letters 

To  Mrs.  Jane  Mecom 173 

To  Benjamin  Webb 174 

To  Samuel  Mather 175 

JOHN  DICKINSON 

From  Letters  from  a  Farmer  in  Pennsylvania 

Letter  I 176 

SAMUEL  SEABURY 

From  Free  Thoughts  on  the  Proceedings  of  the  Continental 

Congress 180 

FRANCIS  HOPKINSON 

A  Pretty  Story 183 

PATRICK  HENRY 

Speech  in  the  Virginia  Convention  of  Delegates 197 

ETHAN  ALLEN 

From  A  Narrative  of  Col.  Ethan  Allen's  Captivity     ....     200 

THOMAS  PAINE 

From  Common  Sense 202 


CONTENTS 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON 

The  Unanimous  Declaration  of  the  Thirteen  United  States  of 

America 205 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

Answer  to  Congress  on  His  Appointment  as  Commander-in-Chief  209 

To  Mrs.  Martha  Washington I      ....  209 

From  A  Letter  to  the  President  of  Congress 211 

From  Farewell  Address 214 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 

From  The  Federalist 

Further  Defects  of  the  Present  Constitution 216 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

From  A  History  of  New  York 224 

From  The  Sketch  Book 

Rip  Van  Winkle 229 

The  Mutability  of  Literature 243 

From  Tales  of  a  Traveller 

The  Strolling  Manager 252 

From  The  Alhambra 

Legend  of  the  Arabian  Astrologer 264 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

A  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom 280 

The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher ;    .     ,     .  295 

The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum 313 

The  Purloined  Letter 327 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

The  American  Scholar 345 

The  Over-Soul 362 

Nature 377 

Behavior 391 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

The  Minister's  Black  Veil 406 

Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment 418 

Rappaccini's  Daughter 428 

Feathertop;  a  Moralized  Legend 455 


CONTENTS  xi 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU 
From  Walden 

Where  I  Lived,  and  What  I  Lived  For 474 

Brute  Neighbors 487 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

From  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table 

IV 498 

V 518 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

From  Leaves  from  My  Journal  in  Italy  and  Elsewhere 

At  Sea ...  §  ....     536 

Abraham  Lincoln 544 

Carlyle 564 

JOHN  C.  CALHOUN 

Speech  on  the  Slavery  Question 589 

DANIEL  WEBSTER 

The  Constitution  and  the  Union  .  .     608 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Address  at  Cooper  Institute 647 

Address(at  the  Dedication  of  the  Gettysburg  National  Cemetery  .  666 

Second  Inaugural  Address 667 

NOTES 671 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 717 

INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 735 

INDEX  OF  TITLES 735 


JOHN  SMITH 

FROM 

A  TRUE  RELATION 

40.  miles  I  passed  up  ye  river,  which  for  the  most  part  is  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  broad,  &  3.  fatham  &  a  half  deep,  exceeding  osey,  many  great 
low  marshes,  &  many  high  lands,  especially  about  ye  midst  at  a  place 
called  Moysonicke,  a  Peninsule  of  4.  miles  ci[r]cuit,  betwixt  two  rivers 
joyned  to  the  main,  by  a  neck  of  40.  or  50.  yards,  and  40.  or  50 
yards  from  the  high  water  marke:  on  both  sides  in  the  very  necke 
of  the  maine,  are  high  hills  and  dales,  yet  much  inhabited,  the 
He  declining  in  a  plaine  fertile  corne  field,  the  lower  end  a  low 
marsh.  More  plentie  of  swannes,  cranes,  geese,  duckes,  and  mallards, 
&  divers  sorts  of  f owles  none  would  desire :  more  plaine  fertile  planted 
ground,  in  such  great  proportions  as  there  I  had  not  scene,  of  a  light 
blacke  sandy  mould,  the  cliffes  commonly  red,  white  and  yellowe 
coloured  sand,  &  under  red  &  white  clay;  fish  great  plenty,  &  people 
aboundance,  the  most  of  their  inhabitants,  in  view  of  ye  neck  of 
Land,  where  a  better  seat  for  a  towne  cannot  be  desired. '  At  the  end 
of  forty  miles  this  river  invironeth  many  low  Hands,  at  each  high 
water  drowned  for  a  mile,  where  it  uniteth  it  selfe,  at  a  place  called 
Apokant  the  highest  Towne  inhabited. 

10.  miles  higher  I  discovered  with  the  barge:  in  the  mid  way,  a 
great  tree  hindred  my  passage  which  I  cut  in  two:  heere  the  river 
became  narrower,  8.  9  or  10.  foote  at  a  high  water,  and  6.  or  7.  at  a 
lowe:  the  streame  exceeding  swift,  &  the  bottom  hard  channell,  the 
ground  most  part  a  low  plaine,  sandy  soyle.  This  occasioned  me  to 
suppose  it  might  issue  from  some  lake  or  some  broad  ford,  for  it  could 
not  be  far  to  the  head,  but  rather  then  I  would  endanger  the  barge, 
Yet  to  have  beene  able  to  resolve  this  doubt,  &  to  discharge  the  im- 
putation of  malicious  tungs,  that  halfe  suspected  I  durst  not  for  so  long 
delaying,  some  of  the  company  as  desirous  as  my  self,  we  resolved 
to  hier  a  Canow,  and  returne  with  the  barge  to  Apocant,  there  to  leave 
the  barge  secure,  and  put  our  selves  uppon  the  adventure:  the 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


country  onely  a  vast  and  wilde  wildernes,  and  but  onely  that  Towne. 
Within  three  or  foure  mile  we  hired  a  Canow,  and  2.  Indians  to  row 
us  ye  next  day  a  fowling :  having  made  such  provision  for  the  barge  as 
was  needfull,  I  left  her  there  to  ride,  with  expresse  charge  not  any  to 
go  ashore  til  my  returne.  Though  some  wise  men  may  condemn 
this  too  bould  attempt  of  too  much  indiscretion,  yet  if  they  well  con- 
sider the  friendship  of  the  Indians,  in  conducting  me,  the  desolatenes 
of  the  country,  the  propabilitie  of  some  lacke,  &  the  malicious  judges 
of  my  actions  at  home,  as  also  to  have  some  matters  of  worth  to 
incourage  our  adventurers  in  england,  might  well  have  caused  any 
honest  minde  to  have  done  the  like,  as  wel  for  his  own  discharge  as 
for  the  publike  good. 

Having  2  Indians  for  my  guide  &  2  of  our  own  company,  I  set 
forward,  leaving  7  in  the  barge.  Having  discovered  20  miles  further 
in  this  desart,  the  river  stil  kept  his  depth  and  bredth,  but  much 
more  combred  with  trees.  Here  we  went  ashore  (being  some  12  miles 
higher  then  ye  barge  had  bene)  to  refresh  our  selves,  during  the 
boyling  of  our  vituals:  one  of  the  Indians  I  tooke  with  me,  to  see  the 
nature  of  the  soile,  &  to  crosse  the  boughts  of  the  river:  the  other 
Indian  I  left  with  M.  Robbinson  and  Thomas  Emry,  with  their  matches 
light  and  order  to  discharge  a  peece,  for  my  retreat  at  the  first  sight  of 
any  Indian.  But  within  a  quarter  of  a  houre  I  heard  a  loud  cry, 
and  a  hollowing  of  Indians,  but  no  warning  peece.  Supposing 
them  surprised,  and  that  the  Indians  had  betraid  us,  presently  I 
seazed  him  &  bound  his  arme  fast  to  my  hand  in  a  garter,  with  my 
pistoll  ready  bent  to  be  revenged  on  him:  he  advised  me  to  fly, 
and  seemed  ignorant  of  what  was  done.  But  as  we  went  discoursing, 
I  was  struck  with  an  arrow  on  the  right  thigh,  but  without  harme: 
upon  this  occasion  I  espied  2  Indians  drawing  their  bowes,  which  I 
prevented  in  discharging  a  french  pistoll.  By  that  I  had  charged 
againe  3  or  4  .more  did  the  like,  for  the  first  fell  downe  and  fled: 
at  my  discharge  they  did  the  like.  My  hinde  I  made  my  barricade, 
who  offered  not  to  strive.  20.  or  30.  arrowes  were  shot  at  me  but 
short.  3  or  4  times  I  had  discharged  my  pistoll  ere  the  king  of 
Pamaunck  called  Opeckankenough  with  200  men,  invironed  me, 
cache  drawing  their  bowe,  which  done  they  laid  them  upon  the 
ground,  yet  without  shot.  My  hinde  treated  betwixt  them  and  me 
of  conditions  of  peace;  he  discovered  me  to  be  the  Captaine:  my 


JOHN  SMITH 


request  was  to  retire  to  ye  boate:  they  demaunded  my  armes,  the 
rest  they  saide  were  slaine,  onely  me  they  would  reserve. 

The  Indian  importuned  me  not  to  shoot.  In  retiring  being  in 
the  midst  of  a  low  quagmire,  and  minding  them  more  then  my  steps, 
I  stept  fast  into  the  quagmire,  and  also  the  Indian  in  drawing  me 
forth.  Thus  surprised,  I  resolved  to  trie  their  mercies:  my  armes  I 
caste  from  me,  till  which  none  durst  approch  me.  Being  ceazed  on 
me,  they  drew  me  out  and  led  me  to  the  King.  I  presented  him  with 
a  compasse  diall,  describing  by  my  best  meanes  the  use  therof ,  whereat 
he  so  amazedly  admired,  as  he  suffered  me  to  proceed  in  a  discourse 
of  the  roundnes  of  the  earth,  the  course  of  the  sunne,  moone,  starres 
and  plannets.  With  kinde  speeches  and  bread  he  requited  me,  con- 
ducting me  where  the  Canow  lay  and  John  Robbinson  slaine,  with 
20  or  30.  arrowes  in  him.  Entry  I  saw  not.  I  perceived  by  the 
aboundance  of  fires  all  over  the  woods,  At  each  place  I  expected 
when  they  would  execute  me,  yet  they  used  me  with  what  kindnes 
they  could. 

Approaching  their  Towne,  which  was  within  6  miles  where  I  was 
taken,  onely  made  as  arbors  and  covered  with  mats,  which  they 
remove  as  occasion  requires:  all  the  women  and  children,  being 
advertised  of  this  accident,  came  foorth  to  meet  them,  the  King  well 
guarded  with  20  bowmen  5  flanck  and  rear,  and  each  flanck  before 
him  a  sword  &  a  peece,  and  after  him  the  like,  then  a  bowman,  then 
I  on  each  hand  a  boweman,  the  rest  in  file  in  the  reare,  which  reare 
led  foorth  amongst  the  trees  in  a  bishion,  cache  his  bowe  and  a  hand- 
full  of  arrowes,  a  quiver  at  his  back  grimly  painted:  on  cache  flanck  a 
sargeant,  the  one  running  alwaies  towards  the  front  the  other  towards 
the  reare,  each  a  true  pace  and  in  exceeding  good  order.  This  being 
a  good  time  continued,  they  caste  themselves  in  a  ring  with  a  daunce, 
and  so  cache  man  departed  to  his  lodging. 

The  Captain  conducting  me  to  his  lodging,  a  quarter  of  Venison 
and  some  ten  pound  of  bread  I  had  for  supper:  what  I  left  was  reserved 
for  me,  and  sent  with  me  to  my  lodging.  Each  morning  3.  women 
presented  me  three  great  platters  of  fine  bread,  more  venison  then 
ten  men  could  devour  I  had:  my  gowne,  points  and  garters,  my 
compas  and  a  tablet  they  gave  me  again.  Though  8  ordinarily 
guarded  me,  I  wanted  not  what  they  could  devise  to  content  me: 
and  still  our  longer  acquaintance  increased  our  better  affection. 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


FROM 

A  MAP  OF  VIRGINIA 

They  [the  Indians]  are  very  strong,  of  an  able  body  and  full  of 
agilitie,  able  to  endure  to  lie  in  the  woods  under  a  tree  by  the  fire, 
in  the  worst  of  winter,  or  in  the  weedes  and  grasse,  in  Ambuscado  in 
the  Sommer.  They  are  inconstant  in  everie  thing,  but  what  feare 
constraineth  them  to  keepe.  Craftie,  timerous,  quicke  of  appre- 
hension &  very  ingenuous.  Some  are  of  disposition  fearefull,  some 
bold,  most  cautelous,  all  Savage.  Generally  covetous  of  coppeer, 
beads,  &  such  like  trash.  They  are  soone  moved  to  anger,  and  so 
malitious,  that  they  seldome  forget  an  injury:  they  seldome  steale 
one  from  another,  least  their  conjurers  should  reveale  it,  and  so 
they  be  pursued  and  punished.  That  they  are  thus  feared  is 
certaine,  but  that  any  can- reveale  their  offences  by  conjuration 
I  am  doubtfull.  Their  women  are  carefull  not  to  bee  suspected  of 
dishonesty  without  the  leave  of  their  husbands.  Each  houshold 
knoweth  their  owne  lands  &  gardens,  and  most  live  of  their  owne 
labours. 

For  their  apparell,  they  are  some  time  covered  with  the  skinnes 
of  wilde  beasts,  which  in  winter  are  dressed  with  the  haire,  but  in  som- 
mer  without.  The  better  sort  use  large  mantels  of  deare  skins  not 
much  differing  in  fashion  from  the  Irish  mantels.  Some  imbrodered 
with  white  beads,  some  with  copper,  other  painted  after  their  manner. 
But  the  common  sort  have  scarce  to  cover  their  nakednesse  but  with 
grasse,  the  leaves  of  trees,  or  such  like.  We  have  seen  some  use 
mantels  made  of  Turky  feathers,  so  prettily  wrought  and  woven 
with  threeds  that  nothing  could  bee  discerned  but  the  feathers,  that 
was  exceeding  warme  and  very  handsome.  But  the  women  are 
alwaies  covered  about  their  midles  with  a  skin  and  very  shamefast 
to  be  scene  bare.  They  adorne  themselves  most  with  copper  beads 
and  paintings.  Their  women  some  have  their  legs,  hands,  brests  and 
face  cunningly  imbrodered  with  diverse  workes,  as  beasts,  serpentes, 
artificially  wrought  into  their  flesh  with  blacke  spots.  In  each  eare 
commonly  they  have  3  great  holes,  whereat  they  hange  chaines 
bracelets  or  copper.  Some  of  their  men  weare  in  those  holes,  a  smal 
greene  &  yellow  coloured  snake,  neare  halfe  a  yard  in  length,  which 
crawling  &  lapping  her  selfe  about  his  necke  often  times  familiarly 
would  kisse  his  lips.  Others  wear  a  dead  Rat  tied  by  the  tail.  Some 


JOHN  SMITH 


on  their  heads  weare  the  wing  of  a  bird,  or  some  large  feather  with  a 
Rattell.  Those  Rattels  are  somewhat  like  the  chape  of  a  Rapier  but 
lesse,  which  they  take  from  the  taile  of  a  snake.  Many  have  the 
whole  skinne  of  a  hawke  or  some  strange  fowle,  stuffed  with  the  wings 
abroad.  Others  a  broad  peece  of  copper,  and  some  the  hand  of  their 
enemy  dryed.  Their  heads  and  shoulders  are  painted  red  with  the 
roote  Pocone  braied  to  powder  mixed  with  oyle,  this  they  hold  in 
somer  to  preserve  them  from  the  heate,  and  in  whiter  from  the  cold. 
Many  other  formes  of  paintings  they  use,  but  he  is  the  most  gallant 
that  is  the  most  monstrous  to  behould. 

Their  buildings  &  habitations  are  for  the  most  part  by  the  rivers 
or  not  farre  distant  from  some  fresh  spring.  Their  houses  are  built 
like  our  Arbors  of  small  young  springs  bowed  and  tyed,  and  so  close 
covered  with  mats,  or  the  barkes  of  trees  very  handsomely,  that  not- 
withstanding either  winde,  raine  or  weather,  they  are  as  warme  as 
stooves,  but  very  smoaky,  yet  at  the  toppe  of  the  house  there  is  a 
hole  made  for  the  smoake  to  goe  into  right  over  the  fire.  Against 
the  fire  they  lie  on  little  hurdles  of  Reedes  covered  with  a  mat,  borne 
from  the  ground  a  foote  and  more  by  a  hurdle  of  wood.  On  these 
round  about  the  house  they  lie  heads  and  points  one  by  thother  against 
the  fire,  some  covered  with  mats,  some  with  skins,  and  some  starke 
naked  lie  on  the  ground,  from  6  to  20  in  a  house.  Their  houses  are 
hi  the  midst  of  their  fields  or  gardens  which  are  smal  plots  of  ground, 
some  20,  some  40.  some  100  some  200.  some  more,  some  lesse;  some 
times  from  2  to  100  of  those  houses  togither,  or  but  a  little  separated 
by  groves  of  trees.  Neare  their  habitations  is  little  small  wood  or 
old  trees  on  the  ground,  by  reason  of  their  burning  of  them  for  fire. 
So  that  a  man  may  gallop  a  horse  amongst  these  woods  any  waie,  but 
where  the  creekes  or  Rivers  shall  hinder. 

Men  women  and  children  have  their  severall  names  according  to 
the  severall  humor  of  their  Parents.  Their  women  (they  say)  are 
easilie  delivered  of  childe,  yet  doe  they  love  children  verie  dearly. 
To  make  them  hardy,  in  the  coldest  mornings  they  wash  them  hi  the 
rivers  and  by  painting  and  ointments  so  tanne  their  skins,  that  after 
a  year  or  two,  no  weather  will  hurt  them. 

The  men  bestowe  then*  tunes  in  fishing,  hunting,  wars  &  such 
manlike  exercises,  scorning  to  be  scene  in  any  woman  like  exercise, 
which  is  the  cause  that  the  women  be  verie  painefull  and  the  men 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


often  idle.  The  women  and  children  do  the  rest  of  the  worke.  They 
make  mats,  baskets,  pots,  morters,  pound  their  corne,  make  their 
bread,  prepare  their  victuals,  plant  their  corne,  gather  their  corne, 
beare  al  kind  of  burdens  and  such  like. 

Their  fire  they  kindle  presently  by  chafing  a  dry  pointed  sticke  in 
a  hole  of  a  little  square  peece  of  wood,  that  firing  it  selfe,  will  so  fire 
mosse,  leaves,  or  anie  such  like  drie  thing,  that  will  quickly  burne. 

In  March  and  Aprill  they  live  much  upon  their  fishing  weares,  and 
feed  on  fish,  Turkies  and  squirrels.  In  May  and  June  they  plant 
their  fieldes  and  live  most  of  Acornes,  walnuts,  and  fish.  But  to 
mend  their  diet,  some  disperse  themselves  in  small  companies  & 
live  upon  fish,  beasts,  crabs,  oysters,  land  Torteyses,  straw  berries, 
mulberries,  &  such  like.  In  June,  Julie,  and  August  they  feed  upon 
the  rootes  of  Tocknough  berries,  fish  and  greene  wheat.  It  is  strange 
to  see  how  their  bodies  alter  with  their  diet,  even  as  the  deare  and 
wilde  beastes  they  seeuie  fat  and  leane,  strong  and  weak.  Powhatan 
their  great  king  and  some  others  that  are  provident,  rost  their  fish  and 
flesh  upon  hurdles  as  before  is  expressed,  and  keepe  it  till  scarce 
times. 

For  fishing  and  hunting  and  warres  they  use  much  their  bow  and 
arrowes.  They  bring  their  bowes  to  the  forme  of  ours  by  the  scraping 
of  a  shell.  Their  arrowes  are  made  some  of  straight  young  sprigs 
which  they  head  with  bone,  some  2  or  3  inches  long.  These  they  use 
to  shoot  at  squirrels  on  trees.  An  other  sort  of  arrowes  they  use 
made  of  reeds.  These  are  peeced  with  wood,  headed  with  splinters 
of  christall  or  some  sharpe  stone,  the  spurres  of  a  Turkey,  or  the  bill 
of  some  bird.  For  his  knife  he  hath  the  splinter  of  a  reed  to  cut  his 
feathers  in  forme.  With  this  knife  also,  he  will  joint  a  Deare  or  any 
beast,  shape  his  shooes,  buskins,  mantels,  &c.  To  make  the  noch  of 
his  arrow  hee  hath  the  tooth  of  a  Bever,  set  in  a  sticke,  wherewith  he 
grateth  it  by  degrees.  His  arrow  head  he  quickly  maketh  with  a 
little  bone,  which  he  ever  weareth  at  his  bracer,  of  any  splint  of  a 
stone,  or  glasse  in  the  forme  of  a  hart;  and  these  they  glew  to  the 
end  of  their  arrowes.  With  the  sinewes  of  Deare,  and  the  tops  of 
Deares  homes  boiled  to  a  jelly,  they  make  a  glew  that  will  not  dissolve 
in  cold  water. 

For  their  wars  also  they  use  Targets  that  are  round  and  made  of 
the  barkes  of  trees,  and  a  sworde  of  wood  at  their  backs,  but  often- 


WILLIAM  BRADFORD 


times  they  use  for  swords  the  home  of  a  Deare  put  through  a  peece 
of  wood  in  forme  of  a  Pickaxe.  Some,  a  long  stone  sharpned  at  both 
ends  used  in  the  same  manner.  This  they  were  wont  to  use  also  for 
hatchets,  but  now  by  trucking  they  have  plenty  of  the  same  forme 
of  yron.  And  those  are  their  chiefe  instruments  and  armes. 

Their  fishing  is  much  in  Boats.  These  they  make  of  one  tree  by 
bowing  &  scratching  away  the  coles  with  stons  &  shels  till  they  have 
made  it. in  forme  of  a  Trough.  Some  of  them  are  an  elne  deepe,  and 
40  or  50  foot  in  length,  and  some  will  beare  40  men,  but  the  most 
ordinary  are  smaller  and  will  beare  10,  20,  or  30.  according  to  their 
bignes.  Insteed  of  oares,  they  use  paddles  and  sticks  with  which  they 
will  row  faster  then  our  Barges. 

Betwixt  their  hands  and  thighes,  their  women  use  to  spin  the 
barks  of  trees,  deare  sinews,  or  a  kind  of  grasse  they  call  Pemmenaw; 
of  these  they  make  a  thred  very  even  &  readily.  This  thred  serveth 
for  many  uses,  as  about  their  housing,  apparell,  as  also  they  make 
nets  for  fishing,  for  the  quantity  as  formally  braded  as  ours.  They 
make  also  with  it  lines  for  angles.  Their  hookes  are  either  a 
bone  grated  as  they  nock  their  arrows,  in  the  forme  of  a  crooked 
pinne  or  fishook,  or  of  .the  splinter  of  a  bone  tied  to  the  clift  of  a 
litle  stick,  and  with  the  ende  of  the  line,  they  tie  on  the  bate.  They 
use  also  long  arrowes  tyed  in  a  line  wherewith  they  shoote  at  fish  in 
the  rivers.  But  they  of  Accawmack  use  staves  like  unto  Javelins 
headed  with  bone.  With  these  they  dart  fish  swimming  in  the  water. 
They  have  also  many  artificiall  weares  in  which  they  get  abundance 
offish. 

WILLIAM  BRADFORD 

FROM 

OF  PLIMOTH  PLANTATION 
THE  PILGRIMS'  SEARCH  FOR  A  HARBOR 

The  month  of  November  being  spente  in  these  affairs,  &  much 
foule  weather  falling  in,  the  6.  of  Desemr:  they  sente  out  their  shallop 
againe  with  10.  of  their  principall  men,  &  some  sea  men,  upon  further 
discovery,  intending  to  circulate  that  deepe  bay  of  Cap-codd.  The 
weather  was  very  could,  &  it  frose  so  hard  as  ye  sprea  of  ye  sea  light- 
ing on  their  coats,  they  were  as  if  they  had  been  glased;  yet  that 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


night  betimes  they  gott  downe  into  ye  botome  of  ye  bay,  and  as  they 
drue  nere  ye  shore  they  saw  some  10.  or  12.  Indeans  very  busie 
aboute  some  thing.  They  landed  aboute  a  league  or  2.  from  them, 
and  had  much  a  doe  to  put  a  shore  any  wher,  it  lay  so  full- of  flats. 
Being  landed,  it  grew  late,  and  they  made  them  selves  a  barricade  with 
loggs  &  bowes  as  well  as  they  could  in  ye  time,  &  set  out  their  sentenill 
&  betooke  them  to  rest,  and  saw  ye  smoake  of  ye  fire  ye  savages  made 
yt  night.  When  morning  was  come  they  devided  their  company, 
some  to  coaste  along  ye  shore  in  ye  boate,  and  the  rest  marched 
throw  ye  woods  to  see  ye  land,  if  any  fit  place  might  be  for  theii 
dwelling.  They  came  allso  to  ye  place  wher  they  saw  the  Indans 
ye  night  before,  &  found  they  had  been  cuting  up  a  great  fish  like  a 
grampus,  being  some  2.  inches  thike  of  fate  like  a  hogg,  some  peeces 
wher  of  they  had  left  by  ye  way;  and  ye  shallop  found  2.  more  of 
these  fishes  dead  on  ye  sands,  a  thing  usuall  after  storms  in  yt  place, 
by  reason  of  ye  great  flats  of  sand  that  lye  of.  So  they  ranged  up  and 
doune  all  yt  day,  but  found  no  people,  nor  any  place  they  liked. 
When  ye  sune  grue  low,  they  hasted  out  of  ye  woods  to  meete  with 
their  shallop,  to  whom  they  made  signes  to  come  to  them  into  a  creeke 
hardby,  the  which  they  did  at  high  water;  of  which  they  were  very 
glad,  for  they  had  not  seen  each  other  all  yt  day,  since  ye  morning. 
So  they  made  them  a  barricade  (as  usually  they  did  every  night)  with 
loggs,  staks,  &  thike  pine  bowes,  ye  height  of  a  man,  leaving  it  open 
to  leeward,  partly  to  shelter  them  from  ye  could  &  wind  (making  their 
fire  in  ye  midle,  &  lying  round  aboute  it),  and  partly  to  defend  them 
from  any  sudden  assaults  of  ye  savags,  if  they  should  surround  them. 
So  being  very  weary,  they  betooke  them  to  rest.  But  aboute  mid- 
night, they  heard  a  hideous  &  great  crie,  and  then-  sentinell  caled, 
"Arme,  arme";  so  they  bestired  them  &  stood  to  their  armes,  & 
shote  of  a  cupple  of  moskets,  and  then  the  noys  seased.  They  con- 
cluded it  was  a  companie  of  wolves,  or  such  like  willd  beasts;  for  one 
of  ye  sea  men  tould  them  he  had  often  heard  shuch  a  noyse  in  New- 
found land.  So  they  rested  till  about  5.  of  ye  clock  in  the  morning; 
for  ye  tide,  &  ther  purposs  to  goe  from  thence,  made  them  be  stiring 
betimes.  So  after  praier  they  prepared  for  breakfast,  and  it  being 
day  dawning,  it  was  thought  best  to  be  earring  things  downe  to  ye 
boate.  But  some  said  it  was  not  best  to  carrie  ye  armes  downe,  others 
said  they  would  be  the  readier,  for  they  had  laped  them  up  in  their  coats 


WILLIAM  BRADFORD 


from  ye  dew.  But  some  3.  or  4.  would  not  cary  theirs  till  they  wente 
them  selves,  yet  as  it  fell  out,  ye  water  being  not  high  enough,  they 
layed  them  downe  on  ye  banke  side,  &  came  up  to  breakfast.  But 
presently,  all  on  ye  sudain,  they  heard  a  great  &  strange  crie,  which 
they  knew  to  be  the  same  voyces  they  heard  hi  ye  night,  though  they 
varied  their  notes,  &  one  of  their  company  being  abroad  came  runing 
in,  &  cried,  "Men,  Indeans,  Indeans";  and  wthall,  then:  arowes  came 
flying  amongst  them.  Their  men  rane  with  all  speed  to  recover  their 
armes,  as  by  ye  good  providence  of  God  they  did.  In  ye  mean  time, 
of  those  that  were  ther  ready,  tow  muskets  were  discharged  at  them, 
&  2.  more  stood  ready  in  ye  enterance  of  ther  randevoue,  but  were 
comanded  not  to  shoote  till  they  could  take  full  aime  at  them;  &  ye 
other  2.  charged  againe  with  -all  speed,  for  ther  were  only  4.  had 
armes  ther,  &  defended  ye  baricado  which  was  first  assalted.  The 
crie  of  ye  Indeans  was  dreadfull,  espetially  when  they  saw  ther  men 
rune  out  of  ye  randevoue  towourds  ye  shallop,  to  recover  their  armes, 
the  Indeans  wheeling  aboute  upon  them.  But  some  running  out  with 
coats  of  malle  on,  &  cutlasses  hi  their  hands,  they  soone  got  their 
armes,  &  let  flye  amongs  them,  and  quickly  stopped  their  violence. 
Yet  ther  was  a  lustie  man,  and  no  less  valiante,  stood  behind  a  tree 
within  halfe  a  musket  shot,  and  let  his  arrows  flie  at  them.  He  was 
seen  shoot  3.  arrowes,  which  were  all  avoyded.  He  stood  3.  shot  of  a 
musket,  till  one  taking  full  aime  at  him,  and  made  ye  barke  or  splinters 
of  ye  tree  fly  about  his  ears,  after  which  he  gave  an  extraordinary 
shrike,  and  away  they  wente  all  of  them.  They  left  some  to  keep 
ye  shalop,  and  followed  them  aboute  a  quarter  of  a  mille,  and  shouted 
once  or  twise,  and  shot  of  2.  or  3.  peces,  &  so  returned.  This  they  did, 
that  they  might  conceive  that  they  were  not  affrade  of  them  or  any 
way  discouraged.  Thus  it  pleased  God  to  vanquish  their  enimies, 
and  give  them  deliverance;  and  by  his  spetiall  providence  so  to  dis- 
pose that  not  any  one  of  them  were  either  hurte,  or  hitt,  though 
their  arrows  came  close  by  them,  &  on  every  side  them,  and  sundry  of 
their  coats,  which  hunge  up  hi  ye  barricade,  were  shot  throw  & 
throw.  Aterwards  they  gave  God  sollamne  thanks  &  praise  for  their 
deliverance,  &  gathered  up  a  bundle  of  their  arrows,  &  sente  them  into 
England  afterward  by  ye  mr.  of  ye  ship,  and  called  that  place  ye 
first  encounter.  From  hence  they  departed,  &  costed  all  along,  but 
discerned  no  place  likly  for  harbor;  &  therfore  hasted  to  a  place  that 


io  AMERICAN  PROSE 


their  pillote,  (one  Mr.  Coppin  who  had  bine  in  ye  cuntrie  before)  did 
assure  them  was  a  good  harbor,  which  he  had  been  in,  and  they  might 
fetch  it  before  night;  of  which  they  were  glad,  for  it  begane  to  be 
foule  weather.  After  some  houres  sailing,  it  begane  to  snow  &  raine, 
&  about  ye  midle  of  ye  afternoone,  ye  wind  increased,  &  ye  sea 
became  very  rough,  and  they  broake  their  rudder,  &  it  was  as  much  as 
2.  men  could  doe  to  steere  her  with  a  cupple  of  oares.  But  their 
pillott  bad  them  be  of  good  cheere,  for  he  saw  ye  harbor;  but  ye 
storme  increasing,  &  night  drawing  on,  they  bore  what  saile  they 
could  to  gett  in,  while  they  could  see.  But  herwith  they  broake  their 
mast  in  3.  peeces,  &  their  saill  fell  over  bord^in  a  very  grown  sea,  so 
as  they  had  like  to  have  been  cast  away;  yet  by  Gods  mercie  they 
recovered  them  selves,  &  having  ye  floud  with  them,  struck  into  ye 
harbore.  But  when  it  came  too,  ye  pillott  was  deceived  in  ye  place, 
and  said,  ye  Lord  be  mercifull  unto  them,  for  his  eys  never  saw  yt 
place  before;  &  he  &  the  mr.  mate  would  have  rune  her  ashore,  in  a 
cove  full  of  breakers,  before  ye  winde.  But  a  lusty  seaman  which 
steered,  bad  those  which  rowed,  if  they  were  men,  about  with  her,  or 
ells  they  were  all  cast  away ;  the  which  they  did  with  speed.  So  he  bid 
them  be  of  good  cheere  &  row  lustly,  for  ther  was  a  f aire  sound  before 
them,  &  he  doubted  not  but  they  should  find  one  place  or  other  wher 
they  might  ride  in  saftie.  And  though  it  was  very  darke,  and  rained 
sore,  yet  in  ye  end  they  gott  under  ye  lee  of  a  smalle  iland,  and 
remained  ther  all  yt  night  in  saftie.  But  they  knew  not  this  to  be  an 
iland  till  morning,  but  were  devided  in  their  minds;  some  would 
keepe  ye  boate  for  fear  they  might  be  amongst  ye  Indians;  others 
were  so  weake  and  could,  they  could  not  endure,  but  got  a  shore,  & 
with  much  adoe  got  fire,  (all  things  being  so  wett,)  and  ye  rest  were 
glad  to  come  to  them;  for  after  midnight  ye  wind  shifted  to  the 
north-west,  &  it  frose  hard.  But  though  this  had  been  a  day  & 
night  of  much  trouble  &  danger  unto  them,  yet  God  gave  them  a 
morning  of  comforte  &  refreshing  (as  usually  he  doth  to  his  children) , 
for  ye  next  day  was  a  faire  sunshining  day,  and  they  found  them 
sellvs  to  be  on  an  iland  secure  from  ye  Indeans,  wher  they  might  drie 
their  stufe,  fixe  their  peeces,  &  rest  them  selves,  and  gave  God 
thanks  for  his  mercies,  in  their  manifould  deliverances.  And  this 
being  the  last  day  of  ye  weeke,  they  prepared  ther  to  keepe  ye  Sabath. 
On  Munday  they  sounded  ye  harbor,  and  founde  it  fitt  for  shipping; 


WILLIAM  BRADFORD 


and  marched  into  ye  land,  &  found  diverse  cornfeilds,  &  litle  runing 
brooks,  a  place  (as  they  supposed)  fitt  for  situation;  at  least  it  was 
ye  best  they  could  find,  and  ye  season,  &  their  presente  necessitie, 
made  them  glad  to  accepte  of  it.  So  they  returned  to  their  shipp 
againe  with  this  news  to  ye  rest  of  their  people,  which  did  much  corn- 
forte  their  harts. 

On  ye  15.  of  Desemr:  they  wayed  anchor  to  goe  to  ye  place 
they  had  discovered,  &  came  within  2.  leagues  of  it,  but  were  faine  to 
bear  up  againe;  but  ye  16.  day  ye  winde  came  faire,  and  they  arrived 
safe  in  this  harbor.  And  after  wards  tooke  better  view  of  ye  place, 
and  resolved  wher  to  pitch  their  dwelling;  and  ye  25.  day  begane 
to  erecte  ye  first  house  for  commone  use  to  receive  them  and  their 
goods. 

THE   FIRST   WINTER 

I  shall  a  litle  returne  backe  and  begine  with  a  combination  made 
by  them  before  they  came  ashore,  being  ye  first  foundation  of  their 
govermente  in  this  place;  occasioned  partly  by  ye  discontented  & 
mutinous  speeches  that  some  of  the  strangers  amongst  them  had  let 
fall  from  them  in  ye  ship — That  when  they  came  a  shore  they  would 
use  their  owne  libertie;  for  none  had  power  to  command  them,  the 
patente  they  had  being  for  Virginia,  and  not  for  New-england,  which 
belonged  to  an  other  Goverment,  with  which  ye  Virginia  Company 
had  nothing  to  doe.  And  partly  that  shuch  an  acte  by  them  done 
(this  their  condition  considered)  might  be  as  firme  as  any  patent, 
and  in  some  respects  more  sure. 

The  forme  was  as  followeth. 

In  ye  name  of  God,  Amen.  We  whose  names  are  underwriten,  the 
loyall  subjects  of  our  dread  soveraigne  Lord,  King  James,  by  ye  grace  of 
God,  of  Great  Britaine,  Franc,  &  Ireland  king,  defender  of  ye  faith,  &c., 
haveing  undertaken,  for  ye  glorie  of  God,  and  advancemente  of  ye  Christian 
faith,  and  honour  of  our  king  &  countrie,  a  voyage  to  plant  ye  first  colonie  in 
ye  Northerne  parts  of  Virginia,  doe  by  these  presents  solemnly  &  mutualy 
in  ye  presence  of  God,  and  one  of  another,  covenant  &  combine  our  selves 
togeather  into  a  civill  body  politick,  for  our  better  ordering  &  preservation  & 
furtherance  of  ye  ends  aforesaid;  and  by  vertue  hearof  to  enacte,  constitute, 
and  frame  such  just  &  equall  lawes,  ordinances,  acts,  constitutions,  &  offices, 
from  time  to  time,  as  shall  be  thought  most  meete  &  convenient  for  ye 
generall  good  of  ye  Colonie,  unto  which  we  promise  all  due  submission  and 


12  AMERICAN  PROSE 


obedience.  In  witnes  wherof  we  have  hereunder  subscribed  our  names  at 
Cap-Codd  ye  1 1 .  of  November,  in  ye  year  of  ye  raigne  of  our  soveraigne  lord, 
King  James,  of  England,  France,  &  Ireland  ye  eighteenth,  and  of  "Scotland 
ye  fiftie  fourth.  Ano:  Dom.  1620. 

After  this  they  chose,  or  rather  confirmed,  Mr.  John  Carver  (a 
man  godly  &  well  approved  amongst  them)  their  Governour  for  that 
year.  And  after  they  had  provided  a  place  for  their  goods,  or  comone 
store,  (which  were  long  in  unlading  for  want  of  boats,  foulnes  of  winter 
weather,  and  sicknes  of  diverce,)  and  begune  some  small  cottages 
for  their  habitation,  as  time  would  admitte,  they  mette  and  consulted 
of  lawes  &  orders,  both  for  their  civill  &  military  Govermente,  as  ye 
necessitie  of  their  condition  did  require,  still  adding  therunto  as 
urgent  occasion  in  severall  times,  and  as  cases  did  require. 

In  these  hard  &  difficulte  beginings  they  found  some  discontents 
&  murmurings  arise  amongst  some,  and  mutinous  speeches  &  carriags 
in  other;  but  they  were  soone  quelled,  &  overcome,  by  ye  wisdome, 
patience,  and  just  &  equall  carrage  of  things  by  ye  Govr  and  better 
part  wch  clave  faithfully  togeather  in  ye  maine.  But  that  which  was 
most  sadd,  &  lamentable  was,  that  in  2.  or  3.  moneths  time  halfe  of 
their  company  dyed,  espetialy  in  Jan:  &  February,  being  ye  depth 
of  winter,  and  wanting  houses  &  other  comforts;  being  infected  with 
ye  scurvie  &  other  diseases,  which  this  long  vioage  &  their  inacomo- 
date  condition  had  brought  upon  them;  so  as  ther  dyed  some  times 
2.  or  3.  of  a  day,  in  ye  foresaid  time;  that  of  100.  &  odd  persons 
scarce  50.  remained.  And  of  these  in  ye  time  of  most  distres  ther 
was  but  6.  or  7.  sound  persons;  who,  to  their  great  comendations  be  it 
spoken,  spared  no  pains,  night  nor  day,  but  with  abundance  of  toyle 
and  hazard  of  their  owne  health,  fetched  them  woode,  made  them  fires, 
drest  them  meat,  made  their  beads,  washed  their  lothsome  cloaths, 
cloathed  &  uncloathed  them ;  in  a  word  did  all  ye  homly  &  necessarie 
offices  for  them,  wch  dainty  &  quesie  stomacks  cannot  endure  to 
hear  named;  and  all  this  willingly  &  cherfully,  without  any  grudging 
in  ye  least,  shewing  herein  then:  true  love  unto  their  freinds  & 
bretheren.  A  rare  example  &  worthy  to  be  remembred.  Tow  of 
these  7.  were  Mr.  William  Brewster  ther  reverend  Elder,  &  Myles 
Standish  ther  Captein  &  military  comander,  unto  whom  my  selfe,  & 
many  others  were  much  beholden  in  our  low  &  sicke  condition.  And 
yet  the  Lord  so  upheld  these  persons,  as  in  this  generall  calamity 


WILLIAM  BRADFORD  13 

they  were  not  at  all  infected  either  with  sicknes,  or  lamnes.  And 
what  I  have  said  of  these,  I  may  say  of  many  others  who  dyed  in  this 
generall  vissitation,  &  others  yet  living,  that  whilst  they  had  health, 
yea,  or  any  strength  continuing,  they  were  not  wanting  to  any  that 
had  need  of  them.  And  I  doute  not  but  their  recompence  is  with  ye 

Lord 

All  this  while  ye  Indians  came  skulking  about  them,  and  would 
sometimes  show  them  selves  aloofe  of,  but  when  any  aproached  near 
them,  they  would  rune  away.  And  once  they  stoale  away  their 
tools  wher  they  had  been  at  worke,  &  were  gone  to  diner.  But 
about  ye  16.  of  March  a  certaine  Indian  came  bouldly  amongst  them, 
and  spoke  to  them  in  broken  English,  which  they  could  well  under- 
stand, but  marvelled  at  it.  At  length  they  understood  by  discourse 
with  him,  that  he  was  not  of  these  parts,  but  belonged  to  ye  eastrene 
parts  wher  some  English-ships  came  to  fhish,  with  whom  he  was 
aquainted,  &  could  name  sundrie  of  them  by  their  names,  amongst 
whom  he  had  gott  his  language.  He  became  proftable  to  them  in 
aquainting  them  with  many  things  concerning  ye  state  of  ye  cuntry 
in  ye  east-parts  wher  he  lived,  which  was  afterwards  profitable  unto 
them;  as  also  of  ye  people  hear,  of  their  names,  number  &  strength; 
of  their  situation  &  distance  from  this  place,  and  who  was  cheefe 
amongst  them.  His  name  was  Samaset;  he  tould  them  also  of  another 
Indian  whos  name  was  Squanto,  a  native  of  this  place,  who  had  been 
in  England  &  could  speake  better  English  then  him  selfe.  Being, 
after  some  time  of  entertainmente  &  gifts  dismist,  a  while  after  he 
came  againe,  &  5.  more  with  him,  &  they  brought  againe  all  ye  tooles 
that  were  stolen  away  before,  and  made  way  for  ye  coming  of  their 
great  Sachem,  called  Massasoyt;  who,  about  4.  or  5.  days  after,  came 
with  the  cheefe  of  his  freinds  &  other  attendance,  with  the  aforesaid 
Squanto.  With  whom,  after  frendly  entertainment,  &  some  gifts 
given  him,  they  made  a  peace  with  him  (which  hath  now  continued 
this  24.  years)  in  these  terms. 

1.  That  neither  he  nor  any  of  his,  should  injurie  or  doe  hurte  to 
any  of  their  peopl. 

2.  That  if  any  of  his  did  any  hurte  to  any  of  theirs,  he  should  send 
ye  offender,  that  they  might  punish  him. 

3.  That  if  any  thing  were  taken  away  from  any  of  theirs,  he 
should  cause  it  to  be  restored;  and  they  should  doe  ye  like  to  his. 


14  AMERICAN  PROSE 


4.  If  any  did  unjustly  warr  against  him,  they  would  aide  him; 
if  any  did  warr  against  them,  he  should  aide  them. 

5.  He  should  send  to  his  neighbours  confederats,  to  certifie 
them  of  this,  that  they  might  not  wrong  them,  but  might  be  likewise 
comprised  hi  ye  conditions  of  peace. 

6.  That  when  ther  men  came  to  them,  they  should  leave  their 
bows  &  arrows  behind  them. 

After  these  things  he  returned  to  his  place  caled  Sowams,  some 
40.  mile  from  this  place,  but  Squanto  continued  with  them,  and  was 
their  interpreter,  and  was  a  spetiall  instrument  sent  of  God  for  their 
good  beyond  their  expectation.  He  directed  them  how  to  set  their 
come,  wher  to  take  fish,  and  to  procure  other  comodities,  and  was 
also  their  pilott  to  bring  them  to  unknowne  places  for  their  profitt, 
and  never  left  them  till  he  dyed. 

UNGODLY  DOINGS  AT  MERRY  MOUNT 

Aboute  some  3.  or  4.  years  before  this  tune,  ther  came  over  one 
Captaine  Wolastone,  (a  man  of  pretie  parts,)  and  with  him  3.  or  4. 
more  of  some  eminencie,  who  brought  with  them  a  great  many 
servants,  with  provissions  &  other  implments  for  to  begine  a  planta- 
tion; and  pitched  them  selves  in  a  place  within  the  Massachusets, 
which  they  called,  after  their  Captains  name,  Mount-Wollaston. 
Amongst  whom  was  one  Mr.  Morton,  who,  it  should  seeme,  had  some 
small  adventure  (of  his  owne  or  other  mens)  amongst  them;  but 
had  litle  respecte  amongst  them,  and  was  sleghted  by  ye  meanest 
servants.  Haveing  continued  ther  some  time,  and  not  finding  things 
to  answer  their  expectations,  nor  profile  to  arise  as  they  looked  for, 
Captaine  Wollaston  takes  a  great  part  of  ye  sarvants,  and  transports 
them  to  Virginia,  wher  he  puts  them  of  at  good  rates,  selling  their 
time  to  other  men;  and  writs  back  to  one  Mr.  Rassdall,  one  of  his 
cheefe  partners,  and  accounted  their  marchant,  to  bring  another  parte 
of  them  to  Verginia  likewise,  intending  to  put  them  of  ther  as  he  had 
done  ye  rest.  And  he,  wth  ye  consente  of  ye  said  Rasdall,  appoynted 
one  Fitcher  to  be  his  Livetenante,  and  governe  ye  remaines  of  ye 
plantation,  till  he  or  Rasdall  returned  to  take  further  order  ther- 
aboute.  But  this  Morton  abovesaid,  haveing  more  craft  then 
honestie,  (who  had  been  a  kind  of  petiefogger,  of  Furnefells  Inne,) 
in  ye  others  absence,  watches  an  oppertunitie,  (commons  being 


WILLIAM  BRADFORD  15 

but  hard  amongst  them,)  and  gott  some  strong  drinck  &  other 
junkats,  &  made  them  a  feast;  and  after  they  were  merie,  he  begane 
to  tell  them,  he  would  give  them  good  counsell.  You  see  (saith  he) 
that  many  of  your  fellows  are  carried  to  Virginia;  and  if  you  stay  till 
this  Rasdall  returne,  you  will  also  be  carried  away  and  sould  for 
slaves  with  ye  rest.  Therfore  I  would  advise  you  to  thrust e  out  this 
Levetenant  Pitcher;  and  I,  having  a  parte  in  the  plantation,  will 
receive  you  as  my  partners  and  consociats;  so  may  you  be  free  fromy 
service,  and  we  will  converse,  trad,  plante,  &  live  togeather  as  equalls, 
&  supporte  &  protecte  one  another,  or  to  like  effecte.  This  counsell 
was  easily  received;  so  they  tooke  oppertunitie,  and  thrust  Leveten- 
ante  Fitcher  out  a  dores,  and  would  suffer  him  to  come  no  more 
amongst  them,  but  forct  him  to  seeke  bread  to  eate,  and  other  releefe 
from  his  neigbours,  till  he  could  gett  passages  for  England.  After 
this  they  fell  to  great  licenciousnes,  and  led  a  dissolute  life,  powering 
out  them  selves  into  all  profanenes.  And  Morton  became  lord  of 
misrule,  and  maintained  (as  it  were)  a  schoole  of  Athisme.  And  after 
they  had  gott  some  good  into  their  hands,  and  gott  much  by  trading 
with  ye  Indeans,  they  spent  it  as  vainly,  in  quaffing  &  drinking  both 
wine  &  strong  waters  in  great  exsess,  and,  as  some  reported  io£.  worth 
in  a  morning.  They  allso  set  up  a  May-pole,  drinking  and  dancing 
aboute  it  many  days  togeather,  inviting  the  Indean  women,  for 
their  consorts,  dancing  and  frisking  togither,  (like  so  many  fairies,  or 
furies  rather,)  and  worse  practises.  As  if  they  had  anew  revived  & 
celebrated  the  feasts  of  ye  Roman  Goddes  Flora,  oryebeas^y  practieses 
of  ye  madd  Bacchinalians.  Morton  likwise  (to  shew  his  poetrie)  com- 
posed sundry  rimes  &  verses,  some  tending  to  lasciviousnes,  and 
others  to  ye  detraction  &  scandall  of  some  persons,  which  he  affixed 
to  this  idle  or  idoll  May-polle.  They  chainged  allso  the  name  of 
their  place,  and  in  stead  of  calling  it  Mounte  Wollaston,  they  call  it 
Merie-mounte,  as  if  this  joylity  would  have  lasted  ever.  .But  this 
continued  not  long,  for  after  Morton  was  sent  for  England,  (as 
follows  to  be  declared,)  shortly  after  came  over  that  worthy  gentlman, 
Mr.  John  Indecott,  who  brought  over  a  patent  under  ye  broad  seall, 
for  ye  govermente  of  ye  Massachusets,  who  visiting  those  parts 
caused  yt  May-polle  to  be  cutt  downe,  and  rebuked  them  for  their 
profannes,  and  admonished  them  to  looke  ther  should  be  better 
walking;  so  they  now,  or  others,  changed  ye  name  of  their  place 
againe,  and  called  it  Mounte-Dagon. 


1 6  AMERICAN  PROSE 


THOMAS  MORTON 

FROM 

NEW  ENGLISH  CANAAN 

The  Inhabitants  of  Pasonagessit  (having  translated  the  name  of 
their  habitation  from  that  ancient  Salvage  name  to  Ma-re  Mount;  and 
being  resolved  to  have  the  new  name  confirmed  for  a  memorial  to 
after  ages)  did  devise  amongst  themselves  to  have  it  performed  in  a 
solemne  manner  with  Revels,  &  merriment  after  the  old  English 
custome:  prepared  to  sett  up  a  Maypole  upon  the  festivall  day  of 
Philip  and  Jacob;  &  therefore  brewed  a  barrell  of  excellent  beare,  & 
provided  a  case  of  bottles  to  be  spent,  with  other  good  cheare,  for 
all  commers  of  that  day.  And  because  they  would  have  it  in  a  com- 
pleat  forme,  they  had  prepared  a  song  fitting  to  the  time  and  present 
occasion.  And  upon  May-day  they  brought  the  Maypole  to  the  place 
appointed,  with  drumes,  gunnes,  pistols,  and  other  fitting  instruments, 
for  that  purpose;  and  there  erected  it  with  the  help  of  Salvages,  that 
came  thether  of  purpose  to  see  the  manner  of  our  Revels.  A  goodly 
pine  tree  of  80.  foote  longe,  was  reared  up,  with  a  peare  of  bucks- 
horns  nayled  one,  somewhat  neare  unto  the  top  of  it:  where  it  stood 
as  a  faire  sea  marke  for  directions;  how  to  finde  out  the  way  to 
mine  Hoste  of  Ma-re  Mount 

The  setting  up  of  this  Maypole  was  a  lamentable  spectacle  to  the 
precise  seperatists:  that  lived  at  new  Plimmouth.  They  termed  it 
an  Idoll;  yea  they  called  it  the  Calfe  of  Horeb:  and  stood  at  defiance 
with  the  place,  naming  it  Mount  Dagon;  threatning  to  make  it  a 
woefull  mount  and  not  a  merry  mount 

There  was  likewise  a  merry  song  made,  which  (to  make  their 
Revells  more  fashionable)  was  sung  with  a  Corus,  every  man  bearing 
his  part^  which  they  performed  in  a  daunce,  hand  in  hand  about  the 
Maypole,  whiles  one  of  the  Company  sung,  and  filled  out  the  good 
liquor  like  gammedes  and  Jupiter. 

THE  SONGE 

Cor.    Drinke  and  be  merry,  merry,  merry  boyes, 
Let  all  your  delight  be  in  Hymens  joy es, 
Id  to  Hymen  now  the  day  is  come, 
About  the  merry  Maypole  take  a  Roome. 


JOHN  WINTHROP  17 


Make  greene  garlons,  bring  bottles  out; 
And  fill  sweet  Nectar,  freely  about, 
Uncover  thy  head,  and  feare  no  harme, 
For  hers  good  liquor  to  keepe  it  warme. 
Then  drinke  and  be  merry,  &c. 
16  to  Hymen,  fire. 

Nectar  is  a  thing  assign'd, 
By  the  Deities  owne  min/le, 
To  cure  the  hart  opprest  with  greifc, 
And  of  good  liquors  is  the  cheife, 
•  Then  drinke,  fire. 
Id  to  Hymen,  fire. 

Give  to  the  Mettancotty  man, 
A  cup  or  two  of 't  now  and  than; 
This  physick'  will  soone  revive  his  bloud, 
And  make  him  be  of  a  merrier  moode. 
Then  drinke  fire. 
Id  to  Hymen  fire. 

Give  to  the  Nymphe  thats  free  from  scorne, 
No  Irish  stuff  nor  Scotch  overworne, 
Lasses  in  beaver  coats  come  away, 
Yee  shall  be  welcome  to  us  night  and  day. 
To  drinke  and  be  merry  fire. 
16  to  Hymen,  &c. 

This  harmeles  mirth  made  by  younge  men  (that  lived  in  hope  to 
have  wifes  brought  over  to  them,  that  would  save  them  a  laboure 
to  make  a  voyage  to  fetch  any  over)  was  much  distasted,  of  the  precise 
Seperatists:  that  keepe  much  a  doe,  about  the  tyth  of  Muit  and 
Cummin;  troubling  their  braines  more  then  reason  would  require 
about  things  that  are  indifferent :  and  from  that  tune  sought  occasion 
against  my  honest  Host  of  Ma-re  Mount  to  overthrow  his  onder- 
takings,  and  to  destroy  his  plantation  quite  and  cleane. 

JOHN  WINTHROP 
A  PURITAN  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Charleton  in  New  England,  July  16,  1630. 
My  Dear  Wife, 

Blessed  be  the  Lord,  our  good  God  and  merciful  Father,  that  yet 
hath  preserved  me  in  life  and  health  to  salute  thee,  and  to  comfort 


i8  AMERICAN  PROSE 


thy  long  longing  heart  with  the  joyful  news  of  my  welfare,  and  the 
welfare  of  thy  beloved  children. 

We  had  a  long  and  troublesome  passage,  but  the  Lord  made  it 
safe  and  easy  to  us;  and  though  we  have  met  with  many  and  great 
troubles,  (as  this  bearer  can  certify  thee,)  yet  he  hath  pleased  to 
uphold  us,  and  to  give  us  hope  of  a  happy  issue. 

I  am  so  overpressed  with  business,  as  I  have  no  time  for  these  or 
other  mine  own  private  occasions.  I  only  write  now,  that  thou 
mayest  know,  that  yet  I  live  and  am  mindful  of  thee  in  all  my  affairs. 
The  larger  discourse  of  all  things  thou  shalt  receive  from  my  brother 
Downing,  which  I  must  send  by  some  of  the  last  ships.  We  have  met 
with  many  sad  and  discomfortable  things,  as  thou  shalt  hear  after; 
and  the  Lord's  hand  hath  been  heavy  upon  myself  in  some  very  near 
to  me.  My  son  Henry!  my  son  Henry!  ah,  poor  child!  Yet  it 
grieves  me  much  more  for  my  dear  daughter.  The  Lord  strengthen 
and  comfort  her  heart,  to  bear  this  cross  patiently.  I  know  thou 
wilt  not  be  wanting  to  her  in  this  distress.  Yet,  for  all  these  things, 
(I  praise  my  God,)  I  am  not  discouraged;  nor  do  I  see  cause  to  repent 
or  despair  of  those  good  days  here,  which  will  make  amends  for  all. 

I  shall  expect  thee  next  summer,  (if  the  Lord  please,)  and  by  that 
time  I  hope  to  be  provided  for  thy  comfortable  entertainment.  My 
most  sweet  wife,  be  not  disheartened;  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  thou 
shalt  see  his  faithfulness.  Commend  me  heartily  to  all  our  kind 
friends  at  Castleins,  Groton  Hall,  Mr.  Leigh  and  his  wife,  my  neigh- 
bour Cole,  and  all  the  rest  of  my  neighbours  and  their  wives,  both 
rich  and  poor.  Remember  me  to  them  at  Assington  Hall,  and  Coden- 
ham  Hall,  Mr.  Brand,'  Mr.  Alston,  Mr.  Mott,  and  their  wives,  good- 
man  Pond,  Charles  Neale,  &c.  The  good  Lord  be  with  thee  and 
bless  thee  and  all  our  children  and  servants.  Commend  my  love' 
to  them  all.  I  kiss  and  embrace  thee,  my  dear  wife,  and  all  my 
children,  and  leave  thee  in  his  arms,  who  is  able  to  preserve  you  all, 
and  to  fulfil  our  joy  in  our  happy  meeting  in  his  good  time.  Amen. 

Thy  faithful  husband, 

Jo.  Winthrop. 
I  shall  write  to  my  son  John  by  London. 

To  my  very  loving  Wife,  Mrs.  Winthrop,  Ike 

elder,  at  Groton  in  Sujfolk,  near  Sudbury. 

From  New  England. 


JOHN  WINTHROP  19 


FROM 

THE  HISTORY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 

A  THEOLOGICAL  COMMONWEALTH 

[A.D.  1636.]  Upon  these  publick  occasions,  other  opinions  brake 
out  publickly  in  the  church  of  Boston, — as  that  the  Holy  Ghost 
dwelt  in  a  believer  as  he  is  in  heaven;  that  a  man  is  justified  before 
he  believes;  and  that  faith  is  no  cause  of  justification.  And  others 
spread  more  secretly, — as  that  the  letter  of  the  scripture  holds  forth 
nothing  but  a  covenant  of  works;  and  that  the  covenant  of  grace  was 
the  spirit  of  the  scripture,  which  was  known  only  to  believers;  and 
that  this  covenant  of  works  was  given  by  Moses  in  the  ten  command- 
ments ;  that  there  was  a  seed  (viz.  Abraham's  carnal  seed)  went  along 
in  this,  and  there  was  a  spirit  and  life  in  it,  by  virtue  whereof  a  man 
might  attain  to  any  sanctification  in  gifts  and  graces,  and  might  have 
spiritual  and  continual  communion  with  Jesus  Christ,  and  yet  be 
damned.  After,  it  was  granted,  that  faith  was  before  justification, 
but  it  was  only  passive,  an  empty  vessel,  &c.;  but  in  conclusion, 
the  ground  of  all  was  found  to  be  assurance  by  immediate  revela- 
tion. .... 

The  differences  in  the  said  points  of  religion  increased  more  and 
more,  and  the  ministers  of  both  sides  (there  being  only  Mr.  Cotton 
of  one  party)  did  publickly  declare  their  judgments  hi  some  of  them, 
so  as  all"  men's  mouths  were  full  of  them.  And  there  being,  12  mo. 
3,  a  ship  ready  to  go  for  England,  and  many  passengers  in  it,  Mr. 
Cotton  took  occasion  to  speak  to  them  about  the  differences,  &c.  and 
willed  them  to  tell  our  countrymen,  that  all  the  strife  amongst  us 
was  about  magnifying  the  grace  of  God;  one  party  seeking  to  advance 
the  grace  of  God  within  us,  and  the  other  to  advance  the  grace  of 
God  towards  us  (meaning  by  the  one  justification,  and  by  the  other 
sanctification;)  and  so  bade  them  tell  them,  that,  if  there  were  any 
among  them  that  would  strive  for  grace,  they  should  come  hither; 
and  so  declared  some  particulars.  Mr.  Wilson  spake  after  him,  and 
declared,  that  he  knew  none  of  the  elders  or  brethren  of  the  churches, 
but  did  labour  to  advance  the  free  grace  of  God  in  justification,  so  far 
as  the  word  of  God  required;  and  spake  also  about  the  doctrine  of 
sanctification,  and  the  .use  and  necessity,  &c.  of  it;  by  occasion 
whereof  no  man  could  tell  (except  some  few,  who  knew  the  bottom  of 


20  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  matter)  where  any  difference  was:  which  speech,  though  it 
offended  those  of  Mr.  Cotton's  party,  yet  it  was  very  seasonable  to 
clear  the  rest,  who  otherwise  should  have  been  reputed  to  have 
opposed  free  grace.  Thus  every  occasion  increased  the  contention, 
and  caused  great  alienation  of  minds;  and  the  members  of  Boston 
(frequenting  the  lectures  of  other  ministers)  did  make  much  dis- 
turbance by  publick  questions,  and  objections  to  their  doctrines, 
which  did  any  way  disagree  from  their  opinions;  and  it  began  to  be 
as  common  here  to  distinguish  between  men,  by  being  under  a  cove- 
nant of  grace  or  a  covenant  of  works,  as  in  other  countries  between 
Protestants  and  Papists. 

A  COLONIAL  SCHOOLMASTER 

[A.D.  1639.]  At  the  general  court  at  Boston,  one  Mr.  Nathaniel 
Eaton,  brother  to  the  merchant  at  Quilipiack,  was  convented  and 
censured.  The  occasion  was  this:  He  was  a  schoolmaster,  and  had 
many  scholars,  the  sons  of  gentlemen  and  others  of  best  note  in  the 
country,  and  had  entertained  one  Nathaniel  Briscoe,  a  gentleman 
born,  to  be  his  usher,  and  to  do  some  other  things  for  him,  which 
might  not  be  unfit  for  a  scholar.  He  had  not  been  with  him  above 
three  days  but  he  fell  out  with  him  for  a  very  small  occasion,  and, 
with  reproachful  terms,  discharged  him,  and  turned  him  out  of  his 
doors;  but,  it  being  then  about  eight  of  the  clock  after  the  Sabbath, 
he  told  him  he  should  stay  till  next  morning,  and,  some  words  growing 
between  them,  he  struck  him  and  pulled  him  into  his  house.  Briscoe 
defended  himself,  and  closed  with  him,  and,  being  parted,  he  came  in 
and  went  up  to  his  chamber  to  lodge  there.  Mr.  Eaton  sent  for  the 
constable,  who  advised  him  first  to  admonish  him,  &c.  and  if  he  could 
not,  by  the  power  of  a  master,  reform  him,  then  he  should  complain 
to  the  magistrate.  But  he  caused  his  man  to  fetch  him  a  cudgel, 
which  was  a  walnut  tree  plant,  big  enough  to  have  killed  a  horse,  and 
a  yard  in  length,  and,  taking  his  two  men  with  him,  he  went  up  to 
Briscoe,  and  caused  his  men  to  hold  him  till  he  had  given  him  two 
hundred  stripes  about  the  head  and  shoulders,  &c.  and  so  kept  him 
under  blows  (with  some  two  or  three  short  intermissions)  about  the 
space  of  two  hours,  about  which  time  Mr.  Shepherd  and  some  others 
of  the  town  came  in  at  the  outcry,  and  so  he  gave  over.  In  this 
distress,  Briscoe  gate  out  his  knife,  and  struck  at  the  man  that  held 


JOHN  WINTHROP 


him,  but  hurt  him  not.  He  also  fell  to  prayer,  (supposing  he  should 
have  been  murdered,)  and  then  Mr.  Eaton  beat  him  for  taking  the 
name  of  God  in  vain.  After  this  Mr.  Eaton  and  Mr.  Shepherd  (who 
knew  not  then  of  these  passages)  came  to  the  governour  and  some 
other  of  the  magistrates,  complaining  of  Briscoe  for  his  insolent 
speeches,  and  for  crying  out  murder  and  drawing  his  knife,  and 
desired  that  he  might  be  enjoined  to  a  publick  acknowledgment,  &c. 
The  magistrates  answered,  that  they  must  first  hear  him  speak,  and 
then  they  would  do  as  they  should  see  cause.  Mr.  Eaton  was  dis- 
pleased at  this,  and  went  away  discontented,  &c.  and,  being  after 
called  into  the  court  to  make  answer  to  the  information,  which  had 
been  given  by  some  who  knew  the  truth  of  the  case,  and  also  to  answer 
for  his  neglect  and  cruelty,  and  other  ill  usage  towards  his  scholars, 
one  of  the  elders  (not  suspecting  such  miscarriages  by  him)  came  to 
the  governour,  and  showed  himself  much  grieved,  that  he  should  be 
publickly  produced,  alleging,  that  it  would  derogate  from  his  authority 
and  reverence  among  his  scholars,  &c.  But  the  cause  went  on  not- 
withstanding, and  he  was  called,  and  these  things  laid  to  his  charge 
in  the  open  court.  His  answers  were  full  of  pride  and  disdain,  telling 
the  magistrates,  that  they  should  not  need  to  do  any  thing  herein,  for 
he  was  intended  to  leave  his  employment.  And  being  asked,  why 
he  used  such  cruelty  to  Briscoe  his  usher,  and  to  other  his  scholars, 
(for  it  was  testified  by  another  of  his  ushers  and  divers  of  his  scholars, 
that  he  would  give  them  between  twenty  and  thirty  stripes  at  a  tune, 
and  would  not  leave  till  they  had  confessed  what  he  required,)  his 
answer  was,  that  he  had  this  rule,  that  he  would  not  give  over  cor- 
recting till  he  had  subdued  the  party  to  his  will.  Being  also  ques- 
tioned about  the  ill  and  scant  diet  of  his  boarders,  (for,  though  their 
friends  gave  large  allowance,  yet  their  diet  was  ordinarily  nothing  but 
porridge  and  pudding,  and  that  very  homely,)  he  put  it  off  to  his 
wife.  So  the  court  dismissed  him  at  present,  and  commanded  him 
to  attend  again  the  next  day,  when,  being  called,  he  was  commanded 
to  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  (where  all  offenders  do  usually  stand,) 
and,  being  openly  convict  of  all  the  former  offences,  by  the  oaths  of 
four  or  five  witnesses,  he  yet  continued  to  justify  himself;  so,  it 
being  near  night,  he  was  committed  to  the  marshal  till  the  next  day. 
When  the  court  was  set  in  the  morning,  many  of  the  elders  came  into 
the  court,  (it  being  then  private  for  matter  of  consultation,)  and 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


declared  how,  the  evening  before,  they  had  taken  pains  with  him, 
to  convince  him  of  his  faults;  yet,  for  divers  hours,  he  had  still  stood 
to  his  justification;  but,  in  the  end,  he  was  convinced,  and  had  freely 
and  fully  acknowledged  his  sin,  and  that  with  tears;  so  as  they  did 
hope  he  had  truly  repented,  and  therefore  desired  of  the  court,  that 
he  might  be  pardoned,  and  continued  in  his  employment,  alleging 
such  further  reasons  as  they  thought  fit.  After  the  elders  were 
departed,  the  court  consulted  about  it,  and  sent  for  him,  and  there, 
in  the  open  court,  before  a  great  assembly,  he  made  a  very  solid,  wise, 
eloquent  and  serious  (seeming)  confession,  condeming  himself  in  all 
the  particulars,  &c.  Whereupon,  being  put  aside,  the  court  consulted 
privately  about  his  sentence,  and,  though  many  were  taken  with  his 
confession,  and  none  but  had  a  charitable  opinion  of  it;  yet,  because 
of  the  scandal  of  religion,  and  offence  which  would  be  given  to  such 
as  might  intend  to  send  their  children  hither,  they  all  agreed  to  cen- 
sure him,  and  put  him  from  that  employment.  So,  being  called  in, 
the  governour,  after  a  short  preface,  &c.  declared  the  sentence  of  the 
court  to  this  effect,  viz.  that  he  should  give  Briscoe  £30,  fined  100 
marks,  and  debarred  teaching  of  children  within  our  jurisdiction. 
A  pause  being  made,  and  expectation  that  (according  to  his  former 
confession)  he  would  have  given  glory  to  God,  and  acknowledged 
the  justice  and  clemency  of  the  court,  the  governour  giving  him 
occasion,  by  asking  him  if  he  had  ought  to  say,  he  turned  away  with 
a  discontented  look,  saying,  "If  sentence  be  passed,  then  it  is  to  no* 
end  to  speak."  Yet  the  court  remitted  his  fine  to  £20,  and  willed 
Briscoe  to  take  but  £20. 

The  church  at  Cambridge,  taking  notice  of  these  proceedings, 
intended  to  deal  with  him.  The  pastor  moved  the  governour,  if  they 
might,  without  offence  to  the  court,  examine  other  witnesses.  His 
answer  was,  that  the  court  would  leave  them  to  their  own  liberty; 
but  he  saw  not  to  what  end  they  should  do  it,  seeing  there  had  been 
five  already  upon  oath,  and  those  whom  they  should  examine  should 
speak  without  oath,  and  it  was  an  ordinance  of  God,  that  by  the 
mouths  of  two  or  three  witnesses  every  matter  should  be  established. 
But  he  soon  discovered  himself ;  for,  ere  the  church  could  come  to 
deal  with  him,  he  fled  to  Pascataquack,  and,  being  pursued  and 
apprehended  by  the  governour  there,  he  again  acknowledged  his 
great  sin  in  flying,  &c.  and  promised  (as  he  was  a  Christian  man)  he 


JOHN  WINTHROP  23 


would  return  with  the  messengers.  But,  because  his  things  he  carried 
with  him  were  aboard  a  bark  there,  bound  to  Virginia,  he  desired 
leave  to  go  fetch  them,  which  they  assented  unto,  and  went  with 
him  (three  of  them)  aboard  with  him.  So  he  took  his  truss  and  came 
away  with  them  in  the  boat;  but,  being  come  to  the  shore,  and  two 
of  them  going  out  of  the  boat,  he  caused  the  boatsmen  to  put  off  the 
boat,  and,  because  the^  third  man  would  not  go  out,  he  turned  him 
into  the  water,  where  he  had  been  drowned,  if  he  had  not  saved  him- 
self by  swimming.  So  he  returned  to  the  bark,  and  presently  they 
set  sail  and  went  out  of  the  harbour.  Being  thus  gone,  his  creditors 
began  to  complain;  and  thereupon  it  was  found,  that  he  was  run  in 
debt  about  £1000,  and  had  taken  up  most  of  this  money  upon  bills 
he  had  charged  into  England  upon  his  brother's  agents,  and  others 
whom  he  had  no  such  relation  to.  So  his  estate  was  seized,  and  put 
into  commissioners'  hands,  to  be  divided  among  his  creditors,  allow- 
ing somewhat  for  the  present  maintenance  of  his  wife  and  children. 
And,  being  thus  gone,  the  church  proceeded  and  cast  him  out.  He 
had  been  sometimes  initiated  among  the  Jesuits,  and,  coming  into 
England,  his  friends  drew  him  from  them,  but,  it  was  very  probable, 
he  now  intended  to  return  to  them  again,  being  at  this  tune  about 
thirty  years  of  age,  and  upwards. 

ANTI-EPISCOPAL  MICE 

[A.D.  1640.]  About  this  tune  there  fell  out  a  thing  worthy  of 
observation.  Mr.  Winthrop  the  younger,  one  of  the  magistrates, 
having  many  books  in  a  chamber  where  there  was  corn  of  divers  sorts, 
had  among  them  one  wherein  the  Greek  testament,  the  psalms  and 
the  common  prayer  were  bound  together.  He  found  the  common 
prayer  eaten  with  mice,  every  leaf  of  it,  and  not  any  of  the  two  other 
touched,  nor  any  other  of  his  books,  though  there  were  above  a 
thousand. 

DIVINE  DISCIPLINE 

[A.D.  1641.]  A  godly  woman  of  the  church  of  Boston,  dwelling 
sometimes  in  London,  brought  with  her  a  parcel  of  very  fine  linen 
of  great  value,  which  she  set  her  heart  too  much  upon,  and  had  been 
at  charge  to  have  it  all  newly  washed  and  curiously  folded  and 
pressed,  and  so  left  it  in  press  in  her  parlour  over  night.  She  had 
a  negro  maid  went  into  the  room  very  late  and  let  fall  some  snuff 


24  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  the  candle  upon  the  linen,  so  as  by  the  morning  all  the  linen  was 
burned  to  tinder,  and  the  boards  underneath,  and  some  stools  and 
a  part  of  the  wainscot  burned,  and  never  perceived  by  any  in  the 
house,  though  some  lodged  in  the  chamber  over  head,  and  no  ceiling 
between.  But  it  pleased  God  that  the  loss  of  this  linen  did  her  much 
good,  both  in  taking  off  her  heart  from  worldly  comforts,  and  in  pre- 
paring her  for  a  far  greater  affliction  by  the^  untimely  death  of  her 
husband  who  was  slain  not  long  after  at  Isle  of  Providence. 

HERESY  PUNISHED 

[A.D.  1643.]  Gorton  maintained,  that  the  image  of  God  wherein 
Adam  was  created  was  Christ,  and  so  the  loss  of  that  image  was  the 
death  of  Christ,  and  the  restoring  of  it  in  regeneration  was  Christ's 
resurrection,  and  so  the  death  of  him  that  was  born  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  was  but  a  manifestation  of  the  former.  In  their  letters,  &c. 
they  condemned  all  ordinances  in  the  church,  calling  baptism  an 
abomination,  and  the  Lord's  supper  the  juice  of  a  poor  silly  grape 
turned  into  the  blood  of  Christ  by  the  skill  of  our  magicians,  &c. 
Yet  upon  examination  they  would  say  they  did  allow  them  to  be  the 
ordinances  of  Christ;  but  their  meaning  was  that  they  were  to  con- 
tinue no  longer  than  the  infancy  of  the  church  lasted,  (and  but  to 
novices  then,)  for  after  the  revelation  was  written  they  were  to  cease, 
for  there  is  no  mention  of  them,  say  they,  in  that  book 

The  court  and  the  elders  spent  near  a  whole  day  in  discovery 
of  Gorton's  deep  mysteries  which  he  had  boasted  of  in  his  letters,  and 
to  bring  him  to  conviction,  but  all  was  in  vain.  Much  pains  was 
also  taken  with  the  rest,  but  to  as  little  effect.  They  would  acknowl- 
edge no  errour  or  fault  in  their  writings,  and  yet  would  seem  sometimes 
to  consent  with  us  hi  the  truth 

After  divers  means  had  been  used  both  in  public  and  private  to 
reclaim  them,  and  all  proving  fruitless,  the  court  proceeded  to  con- 
sider of  their  sentence,  in  which  the  court  was  much  divided.  All 
the  magistrates,  save  three,  were  of  opinion  that  Gorton  ought  to  die, 
but  the  greatest  number  of  the  deputies  dissenting,  that  vote  did  not 
pass.  In  the  end  all  agreed  upon  this  sentence,  for  seven  of  them, 
viz.  that  they  should  be  dispersed  into  seven  several  towns,  and  there 
kept  to  work  for  their  living,  and  wear  irons  upon  one  leg,  and  not 
to  depart  the  limits  of  the  town,  nor  by  word  or  writing  maintain  any 


JOHN  WINTHROP  25 


of  their  blasphemous  or  wicked  errours  upon  pain  of  death,  only  with 
exception  for  speech  with  any  of  the  elders,  or  any  other  licensed  by 
any  magistrate  to  confer  with  them;  this  censure  to  continue  during 

the  pleasure  of  the  court 

At  the  next  court  they  were  all  sent  away,  because  we  found 
that  they  did  corrupt  some  of  our  people,  especially  the  women,  by 
their  heresies. 

PRETERNATURAL  PHENOMENA 

[A.D.  1643.]  The  i8th  of  this  month  two  lights  were  seen  near 
Boston,  (as  is  before  mentioned,)  and  a  week  after  the  like  was  seen 
again.  A  light  like  the  moon  arose  about  the  N.E.  point  in  Boston, 
and  met  the  former  at  Nottles  Island,  and  there  they  closed  in  one, 
and  then  parted,  and  closed  and  parted  divers  tunes,  and  so  went 
over  the  hill  in  the  island  and  vanished.  Sometimes  they  shot  out 
flames  and  sometimes  sparkles.  This  was  about  eight  of  the  clock 
in  the  evening,  and  was  seen  by  many.  About  the  same  time  a  voice 
was  heard  upon  the  water  between  Boston  and  Dorchester,  calling 
out  hi  a  most  dreadful  manner,  boy,  boy,  come  away,  come  away :  and 
it  suddenly  shifted  from  one  place  to  another  a  great  distance,  about 
twenty  tunes.  It  was  heard  by  divers  godly  persons.  About  14 
days  after,  the  same  voice  in  the  same  dreadful  manner  was  heard 
by  others  on  the  other  side  of  the  town  toward  Nottles  Island. 

These  prodigies  having  some  reference  to  the  place  where  Cap- 
tain Chaddock's  pinnace  was  blown  up  a  little  before,  gave  occasion 
of  speech  of  that  man  who  was  the  cause  of  it,  who  professed  himself 
to  have  skill  in  necromancy,  and  to  have  done  some  strange  things  hi 
his  way  from  Virginia  hither,  and  was  suspected  to  have  murdered 
his  master  there;  but  the  magistrates  here  had  no  notice  of  him  till 
after  he  was  blown  up.  This  is  to  be  observed  that  his  fellows  were 
all  found,  and  others  who  were  blown  up  in  the  former  ship  were  also 
found,  and  others  also  who  have  miscarried  by  drowning,  &c.  have 
usually  been  found,  but  this  man  was  never  found. 

A  PURITAN    BLUE-STOCKING 

[A.D.  1645.]  Mr.  Hopkins,  the  governour  of  Hartford  upon 
Connecticut,  came  to  Boston,  and  brought  his  wife  with  him  (a  godly 
young  woman,  and  of  special  parts) ,  who  was  fallen  into  a  sad  infirm- 
ity, the  loss  of  her  understanding  and  reason,  which  had  been  growing 


26  AMERICAN  PROSE 


upon  her  divers  years,  by  occasion  of  her  giving  herself  wholly  to 
reading  and  writing,  and  had  written  many  books.  Her  husband, 
being  very  loving  and  tender  of  her,  was  loath  to  grieve  her;  but  he 
saw  his  errour,  when  it  was  too  late.  For  if  she  had  attended  her 
household  affairs,  and  such  things  as  belong  to  women,  and  not  gone 
out  of -her  way  and  calling  to  meddle  in  such  things  as  are  proper  for 
men,  whose  minds  are  stronger  &c.  she  had  kept  her  wits,  and  might 
have  improved  them  usefully  and  honourably  in  the  place  God  had 
set  her.  He  brought  her  to  Boston,  and  left  her  with  her  brother, 
one  Mr.  Yale,  a  merchant,  to  try  what  means  might  be  had  here  for 
her.  But  no  help  could  be  had. 

WITCHCRAFT 

[A.D.  1648.]  At  this  court  one  Margaret  Jones  of  Charlestown 
was  indicted  and  found  guilty  of  witchcraft,  and  hanged  for  it.  The 
evidence  against  her  was,  i.  that  she  was  found  to  have  such  a  malig- 
nant touch,  as  many  persons  (men,  women  and  children,)  whom 
she  stroked  or  touched  with  any  affection  or  displeasure  or  &c.  were 
taken  with  deafness,  or  vomiting,  or  other  violent  pains  or  sickness, 
2.  she  practising  physick,  and  her  medicines  being  such  things  as 
(by  her  own  confession)  were  harmless,  as  aniseed,  liquors  &c.  yet  had 
extraordinary  violent  effects,  3.  she  would  use  to  tell  such  as  would  not 
make  use  of  her  physick,  that  they  would  never  be  healed,  and  accord- 
ingly their  diseases  and  hurts  continued,  with  relapses  against  the 
ordinary  course,  and  beyond  the  apprehension  of  all  physicians  and 
surgeons,  4.  some  things  which  she  foretold  came  to  pass  accordingly; 
other  things  she  could  tell  of  (as  secret  speeches  &c.)  which  she  had 
no  ordinary  means  to  come  to  the  knowledge  of,  ....  6.  in  the 
prison,  in  the  clear  day-light,  there  was  seen  in  her  arms,  ....  a  little 
child,  which  ran  from  her  into  another  room,  and  the  officer  following 
it,  it  was  vanished.  The  like  child  was  seen  in  two  other  places,  to 
which  she  had  relation;  and  one  maid  that  saw  it,  fell  sick  upon  it, 
and  was  cured  by  the  said  Margaret,  who  used  means  to  be  employed 
to  that  end.  Her  behaviour  at  her  trial  was  very  intemperate,  lying 
notoriously,  and  railing  upon  the  jury  and  witnesses  &c.  and  hi  the 
like  distemper  she  died.  The  same  day  and  hour  she  was  executed, 
there  was  a  very  great  tempest  at  Connecticut,  which  blew  down 
many  trees  &c 


JOHN  WINTHROP  27 


The  Welcome,  of  Boston,  about  300  tons,  riding  before  Charles- 
town,  having  in  her  eighty  horses  and  120  tons  of  ballast,  in  calm 
weather,  fell  a  rolling,  and  continued  so  about  twelve  hours,  so  as 
though  they  brought  a  great  weight  to  the  one  side,  yet  she  would 
heel  to  the  other,  and  so  deep  as  they  feared  her  foundering.  It  was 
then  the  tune  of  the  county  court  at  Boston,  and  the  magistrates 
hearing  of  it,  and  withal  that  one  Jones  (the  husband  of  the  witch 
lately  executed)  had  desired  to  have  passage  in  her  to  Barbados,  and 
could  not  have  it  without  such  payment  &c.  they  sent  the  officer 
presently  with  a  warrant  to  apprehend  him,  one  of  them  saying  that 
the  ship  would  stand  still  as  soon  as  he  was  in  prison.  And  as  the 
officer  went,  and  was  passing  over  the  ferry,  one  said  to  him,  you  can 
tame  men  sometimes,  can't  you  tame  this  ship.  The  officer  answered, 
I  have  that  here  that  ( it  may  be)  will  tame  her,  and  make  her  be  quiet ; 
and  with  that  showed  his  warrant.  And  at  the  same  instant,  she 
began  to  stop  and  presently  staid,  and  after  he  was  put  in  prison, 
moved  no  more. 

There  appeared  over  the  harbour  at  New  Haven,  in  the  evening, 
the  form  of  the  keel  of  a  ship  with  three  masts,  to  which  were  suddenly 
added  all  the  tackling  and  sails,  and  presently  after,  upon  the  top  of 
the  poop,  a  man  standing  with  one  hand  akimbo  under  his  left  side, 
and  in  his  right  hand  a  sword  stretched  out  towards  the  sea.  Then 
from  the  side  of  the  ship  which  was  from  the  town  arose  a  great 
smoke,  which  covered  all  the  ship,  and  in  that  smoke  she  vanished 
away ;  but  some  saw  her  keel  sink  into  the  water.  This  was  seen  by 
many,  men  and  women,  and  it  continued  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

THE   SNAKE   IN  THE   SYNOD 

[A.D.  1648.]  The  synod  met  at  Cambridge  by  adjournment. 
.  .  .  .  Mr.  Allen  of  Dedham  preached  out  of  Acts  15,  a  very  godly, 
learned,  and  particular  handling  of  near  all  the  doctrines  and  appli- 
cations concerning  that  subject,  with  a  dear  discovery  and  refutation 
of  such  errours,  objections  and  scruples  as  had  been  raised  about  it 
by  some  young  heads  in  the  country. 

It  fell  out,  about  the  midst  of  his  sermon,  there  came  a  snake  into 
the  seat,  where  many  of  the  elders  sate  behind  the  preacher.  It  came 
in  at  the  door  where  people  stood  thick  upon  the  stairs.  Divers  of 
the  elders  shifted  from  it,  but  Mr.  Thomson,  one  of  the  elders  of 


28  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Braintree,  (a  man  of  much  faith,)  trode  upon  the  head  of  it,  and  so 
held  it  with  his  foot  and  staff  with  a  small  pair  of  grains,  until  it  was 
killed.  This  being  so  remarkable,  and  nothing  falling  out  but  by 
divine  providence,  it  is  out  of  doubt,  the  Lord  discovered  some- 
what of  his  mind  in  it.  The  serpent  is  the  devil;  the  synod,  the 
representative  of  the  churches  of  Christ  in  New  England.  The  devil 
had  formerly  and  lately  attempted  their  disturbance  and  dissolution; 
but  their  faith  in  the  seed  of  the  woman  overcame  him  and  crushed 
his  head. 

THE   SPECIAL  HAND   OF   GOD 

[A.D.  1648.]  About  eight  persons  were  drowned  this  winter,  all 
by  adventuring  upon  the  ice,  except  three,  whereof  two  (one  of  them 
being  far  in  drink)  would  needs  pass  from  Boston  to  Winisemett  in 
a  "small  boat  and  a  tempestuous  night.  This  man  (using  to  come 
home  to  Winisemett  drunken)  his  wife  would  tell  him,  he  would  one 
day  be  drowned  &c.  but  he  made  light  of  it.  Another  went  aboard 
a  ship  to  make  merry  the  last  day  at  night,  (being  the  beginning  of 
the  Lord's  day,)  and  returning  about  midnight  with  three  of  the 
ship's  company,  the  boat  was  overset  by  means  of  the  ice,  they  guiding 
her  by  a  rope,  which  went  from  the  ship  to  the  shore.  The  seamen 
waded  out,  but  the  Boston  man  was  drowned,  being  a  man  of  good 
conversation  and  hopeful  of  some  work  of  grace  begun  in  him,  but 
drawn  away  by  the  seamen's  invitation.  God  will  be  sanctified  in 
them  that  come  near  him.  Two  others  were  the  children  of  one  of  the 
church  of  Boston.  While  the  parents  were  at  the  lecture,  the  boy 
(being  about  seven  years  of  age,)  having  a  small  staff  in  his  hand,  ran 
down  upon  the  ice  towards  a  boat  he  saw,  and  the  ice  breaking,  he 
fell  in,  but  his  staff  kept  him  up,  till  his  sister,  about  fourteen  years 
old,  ran  down  to  save  her  brother  (though  there  were  four  men  at 
hand,  and  called  to  her  not  to  go,  being  themselves  hasting  to  save 
him)  and  so  drowned  herself  and  him  also,  being  past  recovery  ere 
the  men  could  come  at  them,  and  could  easily  reach  ground  with 
their  feet.  The  parents  had  no  more  sons,  and  confessed  they  had 
been  too  indulgent  towards  him,  and  had  set  their  hearts  over  much 
upon  him. 

This  puts  me  in  mind  of  another  child  very  strangely  drowned 
a  little  before  winter.  The  parents  were  also  members  of  the  church 
of  Boston.  The  father  had  undertaken  to  maintain  the  mill-dam, 


THOMAS  SHEPARD  29 


and  being  at  work  upon  it,  (with  some  help  he  had  hired,)  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  last  day  of  the  week,  night  came  upon  them  before 
they  had  finished  what  they  intended,  and  his  conscience  began  to 
put  him  in  mind  of  the  Lord's  day,  and  he  was  troubled,  yet  went  on 
and  wrought  an  hour  within  night.  The  next  day,  after  evening 
exercise,  and  after  they  had  supped,  the  mother  put  two  children  to 
bed  hi  the  room  where  themselves  did  lie,  and  they  went  out  to  visit 
a  neighbour.  When  they  returned,  they  continued  about  an  hour  in 
the  room,  and  missed  not  the  child,  but  then  the  mother  going  to  the 
bed,  and  not  finding  her  youngest  child,  (a  daughter  about  five  years 
of  age,)  after  much  search  she  found  it  drowned  in  a  well  hi  her  cellar; 
which  was  very  observable,  as  by  a  special  hand  of  God,  that  the 
child  should  go  out  of  that  room  into  another  in  the  dark,  and  then 
fall  down  at  a  trap  door,  or  go  down  the  stairs,  and  so  into  the  well 
in  the  farther  end  of  the  cellar,  the  top  of  the  well  and  the  water 
being  even  with  the  ground.  But  the  father,  freely  in  the  open 
congregation,  did  acknowledge  it  the  righteous  hand  of  God  for  his 
profaning  his  holy  day  against  the  checks  of  his  own  conscience. 

THOMAS  SHEPARD 

FROM 

THE  SINCERE  CONVERT 

Doct.  2.  That  those  that  are  saved,  are  saved  with  much  difficulty: 
or  it  is  a  wonderfull  hard  thing  to  be  saved. 

The  gate  is  strait,  and  therefore  a  man  must  sweat  and  strive  to 
enter;  both  the  entrance  is  difficult,  and  the  progresse  of  salvation  too. 
Jesus  Christ  is  not  got  with  a  wet  finger.  It  is  not  wishing  and  desir- 
ing to  be  saved,  will  bring  men  to  heaven;  hells  mouth  is  full  of  good 
wishes.  It  is  not  shedding  a  tear  at  a  Sermon,  or  blubbering  now  and 
then  in  a  corner,  and  saying  over  thy  prayers,  and  crying  God  mercy 
for  thy  sins,  will  save  thee.  It  is  not  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  will 
doe  thee  good.  It  is  not  coming  constantly  to  Church;  these  are 
easie  matters.  But  it  is  a  tough  work,  a  wonderfull  hard  matter  to 
be  saved,  i  Pet.  4. 18.  Hence  the  way  to  heaven  is  compared  to  a 
Race,  where  a  man  must  put  forth  all  his  strength,  and  stretch  every 
limb,  and  all  to  get  forward.  Hence  a  Christians  life  is  compared  to 
wrestling,  Eph.  6.12.  All  the  policy  and  power  of  hell  buckle  together 


30  AMERICAN  PROSE 


against  a  Christian,  therefore  he  must  look  to  himself,  or  else  he  falls. 
Hence  it  is  compared  to  fighting,  2  Tim.  4. 7.  a  man  must  fight  against 
the  Devill,  the  World,  Himself;  who  shoot  poysoned  bullets  in  the 
soul,  where  a  man  must  kill  or  be  killed.  God  hath  not  lined  the  way 
to  Christ  with  velvet,  nor  strewed  it  with  rushes.  He  will  never  feed 
a  slothfull  humour  in  man,  who  will  be  saved  if  Christ  and  Heaven 
would  drop  into  their  mouthes,  and  if  any  would  bear  their  charges 
thither:  If  Christ  might  be  bought  for  a  few  cold  wishes,  and  lazie 
desires,  he  would  be  of  small  reckoning  amongst  men,  who  would  say, 
lightly  come  lightly  gee.  Indeed  Christs  yoke  is  easie  in  it  self,  and 
when  a  man  is  got  into  Christ,  nothing  is  so  sweet;  but  for  a  carnall 
dull  heart,  it  is  hard  to  draw  in  it;  for, 

There  are  4  strait  gates  wch  every  one  must  pass  through  before 
he  can  enter  into  heaven. 

1.  There  is  the  strait  gate  of  Humiliation;  God  saveth  none,  but 
first  he  humbleth  them ;  now  it  is  hard  to  pass  through  the  gates  and 
flames  of  hell;  for  a  heart  as  stiffe  [as]  a  stake,  to  bow;  as  hard  as  a 
stone,  to  bleed  for  the  least  prick,  not  to  mourne  for  one  sin,  but  all 
sins;  and  not  for  a  fit,  but  all  a  mans  life  time;  Oh  it  is  hard  for  a  man 
to  suffer  himself  to  be  loaden  with  sinne,  and  prest  to  death  for  sin, 
so  as  never  to  love  sinne  more,  but  to  spit  in  the  face  of  that  which  he 
once  loved  as  dearly  as  his  life.    It  is  easie  to  drop  a  tear  or  two,  and 
be  Sermon-sick;  but  to  have  a  heart  rent  for  shine,  and  from  sinne, 
this  is  true  humiliation,  and  this  is  hard. 

2.  The  strait  gate  of  Faith,  Eph.  1.19.    It's  an  easie  matter  to 
presume,  but  hard  to  beleeve  in  Christ.    It  is  easie  for  a  man  that 
was  never  humbled,  to  beleeve  and  say,  'Tis  but  beleeving:  but  it  is  an 
hard  matter  for  a  man  humbled,  when  he  sees  all  his  sins  in  order 
before  him,  the  Devill  and  Conscience  roaring  upon  him,  and  crying 
out  against  him,  and  God  frowning  upon  him,  now  to  call  God  Father, 
is  an  hard  work.    Judas  had  rather  be  hang'd  than  believe.     It  is  hard 
to  see  a  Christ  as  a  rock  to  stand  upon,  when  we  are  overwhelmed 
with  sorrow  of  heart  for  sinne.     It  is  hard  to  prize  Christ  above  ten 
thousand  worlds  of  pearl:  'tis  hard  to  desire  Christ,  and  nothing  but 
Christ;  hard  to  follow  Christ  all  the  day  long,  and  never  to  be  quiet 
till  he  is  got  in  thine  armes,  and  then  with  Simeon  to  say,  Lord  now 
lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace. 

3.  The  strait  gate  of  Repentance.    It  is  an  easie  matter  for  a  man 
to  confesse  himselfe  to  be  a  sinner,  and  to  cry  God  forgivenesse  untill 


THOMAS  SHEPAKD  31 


next  time:  but  to  have  a  bitter  sorrow  and  so  to  turn  from  all  sin,  and 
to  return  to  God,  and  all  the  waies  of  God,  which  is  true  repentance 
indeed;  this  is  hard. 

4.  The  strait  gate  of  opposition  of  Devils,  the  World,  and  a  mans 
own  Self,  who  knock  a  man  down  when  he  begins  to  look  towards 
Christ  and  heaven. 

Hence  learn,  that  every  easie  way  to  heaven  is  a  false  way, 
although  ministers  should  preach  it  out  of  their  Pulpits,  and  Angels 
should  publish  it  out  of  heaven. 

Now  there  are  nine  easie  wayes  to  heaven,  (as  men  think)  all 
which  lead  to  hell. 

1.  The  common  broad  way,  wherein  a  whole  parish  may  all  goe 
a  breadth  in  it;  tell  these  people  they  shal  be  damned ;  their  answer 
is,  then  woe  to  many  more  besides  me. 

2.  The  way  of  Civill  education,  whereby  many  wilde  natures  are 
by  little  and  little  tamed,  and  like  wolves  are  chained  up  easily  while 
they  are  young. 

3.  Balams  way  of  good,  wishes,  whereby  many  people  will  con- 
fesse  their  ignorance,  forgetfulnesse,  and  that  they  cannot  make  such 
shewes  as  others  doe,  but  they  thank  God  their  hearts  are  as  good,  and 
God  for  his  part  accepts  (say  they)  the  will  for  the  deed.    And,  My 
son  give  me  thine  heart;  the  heart  is  all  in  all,  and  so  long  they  hope 
to  doe  well  enough.     Poor  deluded  creatures  thus  think  to  break 
through  armies  of  sinnes,  Devils,  temptations,  and  to  break  open  the 
very  gates  of  Heaven  with  a  few  good  wishes;  they  think  to  come  to 
their  journeys  end  without  legs,  because  their  hearts  are  good  to  God. 

4.  The  way  of  Formality,  whereby  men  rest  in  the  performance  of 
most  or  of  all  externall  duties  without  inward  life,  Mark,  i .  14.    Every 
man  must  have  some  Religion,  some  fig-leaves  to  hide  then*  naked- 
nesse.    Now  this  Religion  must  be  either  true  Religion,  or  the  false 
one;  if  the  true,  he  must  either  take  up  the  power  of  it,  but  that  he 
will  not,  because  it  is  burdensome;  or  the  forme  of  it,  and  this  being 
easie  men  embrace  it  as  their  God,  and  will  rather  lose  their  lives 
than  their  Religion  thus  taken  up.     This  form  of  Religion  is  the 
easiest  Religion  in  the  world;  partly,  because  it  easeth  men  of  trouble 
of  conscience,  quieting  that:   Thou  hast  sinned,  saith  conscience, 
and  God  is  offended,  take  a  book  and  pray,  keep  thy  conscience 
better,  and  bring  thy  Bible  with  thee.    Now  conscience  is  silent, 
being  charmed  down  with  the  form  of  Religion,  as  the  Devill  is  driven 


32  AMERICAN  PROSE 


away  (as  they  say)  with  holy  water;  partly  also  because  the  form  of 
religion  credits  a  man,  partly  because  it  is  easie  in  it  selfe;  it's  of  a 
light  carriage,  being  but  the  shadow  and  picture  of  the  substance 
of  religion;  as  now,  what  an  easie  matter  it  is  to  come  to  Church? 
They  hear  (at  least  outwardly)  very  attentively  and  hour  or  more,  and 
then  to  turn  to  a  proof,  and  to  turn  down  a  leaf,  here's  the  form.  But 
now  to  spend  Saturday  night,  and  all  the  whole  Sabbath  day  morning, 
in  trimming  the  Lamp,  and  in  getting  oyle  in  the  heart  to  meet  the 
Bridegroom  the  next  day,  and  so  meet  him  in  the  Word,  and  there  to 
tremble  at  the  voice  of  God,  and  suck  the  brest  while  it  is  open,  and 
when  the  word  is  done,  to  goe  aside  privately,  and  there  to  chew  upon 
the  word,  there  to  lament  with  tears  all  the  vain  thoughts  in  duties, 
deadnesse  in  hearing,  this  is  hard,  because  this  is  the  power  of  godli- 
nesse,  and  this  men  will  not  take  up:  so  for  private  prayer,  what  an 
easie  matter  it  is  for  a  man  to  say  over  a  few  prayers  out  of  some 
devout  book,  or  to  repeat  some  old  prayer  got  by  heart  since  a  childe, 
or  to  have  two  or  three  short  winded  wishes  for  Gods  mercy  in  the 
morning  and  at  night;  this  form  is  easie:  but  now  to  prepare  the 
heart  by  serious  meditation  of  God  and  mans  self  before  he  praies, 
then  to  come  to  God  with  a  bleeding  hunger-starved  heart,  not  only 
with  a  desire,  but  with  a  warrant,  I  must  have  such  or  such  a  mercy, 
and  there  to  wrestle  with  God,  although  it  be  an  hour  or  two  together 
for  a  blessing,  this  is  too  hard;  men  think  none  doe  thus,  and  therefore 
they  will  not. 

Fifthly,  the  way  of  presumption,  whereby  men  having  seen  their 
sins,  catch  hold  easily  upon  Gods  mercy,  and  snatch  comforts, 
before  they  are  reached  out  unto  them.  There  is  no  word  of  com- 
fort in  the  book  of  God  intended  for  such  as  regard  iniquity 
in  their  hearts,  though  they  doe  not  act  it  in  their  lives.  Their  only 
comfort  is,  that  the  sentence  of  damnation  is  not  yet  executed  upon 
them. 

Sixthly,  the  way  of  sloth,  whereby  men  lie  still,  and  say  God  must 
doe  all;  If  the  Lord  would  set  up  a  Pulpit  at  the  Alehouse  door,  it 
may  be  they  would  hear  oftner.  If  God  will  alwaies  thunder,  they 
will  alwaye  pray;  if  strike  them  now  and  then  with  sicknesse,  God 
shall  be  paid  with  good  words  and  promises  enow,  that  they  will  be 
better  if  they  live;  but  as  long  as  peace  lasts,  they  will  run  to  Hell  as 
fast  as  they  can;  and  if  God  will  not  catch  them,  they  care  not,  they 
will  not  return. 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  33 


Seventhly,  the  way  of  carelesnesse  when  men  feeling  many 
difficulties,  pass  through  some  of  them,  but  not  all,  and  what  they 
cannot  get  now,  they  feed  themselves  with  a  false  hope  they  shall 
hereafter;  they  are  content  to  be  called  Precisians,  and  fools,  and 
crazie  brains,  but  they  want  brokennesse  of  heart,  and  they  will  pray 
(it  may  be)  for  it,  and  passe  by  that  difficulty;  but  to  keep  the  wound 
alwaies  open,  this  they  will  not  doe,  to  be  alwaies  sighing  for  help, 
and  never  to  give  themselves  rest  till  their  hearts  are  humbled; 
that  they  will  not;  these  have  a  name  to  live,  yet  are  dead. 

Eighthly,  the  way  of  moderation  or  honest  discretion,  Rev.  3 . 16. 
which  indeed  is  nothing  but  lukewarmnesse  of  the  soul,  and  that  is, 
when  a  man  contrives  and  cuts  out  such  a  way  to  Heaven,  as  he  may 
be  hated  of  none,  but  please  all,  and  so  do  any  thing  for  a  quiet  life, 
and  so  sleep  in  a  whole  skin.  The  Lord  saith,  He  that  will  live  godly, 
must  suffer  persecution:  No,  not  so,  Lord.  Surely  (think  they)  if 
men  were  discreet  and  wise,  it  would  prevent  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
and  oposition  in  good  courses;  this  man  will  commend  those  that  are 
most  zealous,  if  they  were  but  wise;  if  he  meet  with  a  black-mouth'd 
swearer,  he  will  not  reprove  him,  lest  he  be  displeased  with  him ;  if  he 
meet  with  an  honest  man,  hee'l  yeeld  to  all  he  saith,  that  so  he  may 
commend  him;  and  when  he  meets  them  both  together,  they  shall 
be  both  alike  welcome,  (what  ever  hee  thinks)  to  his  house  and  table, 
because  he  would  fain  be  at  peace  with  all  men. 

Ninthly,  and  lastly,  the  way  of  Self-love,  whereby  a  man  fearing 
terribly  he  shall  be  damned,  useth  diligently  all  means  whereby  he 
shall  be  saved.  Here  is  the  strongest  difficulty  of  all,  to  row  against 
the  stream,  and  to  hate  a  mans  self,  and  then  to  follow  Christ  fully. 

ROGER  WILLIAMS 

FROM 

THE  BLOUDY  TENENT  OF  PERSECUTION  FOR  CAUSE 
OF  CONSCIENCE 

FROM 
THE  PREFACE 

First,  That  the  blood  of  so  many  hundred  thousand  souls  of- 
Protestants  and  Papists,  spilt  in  the  Wars  of  present  and  former  Ages, 
for  their  respective  Consciences,  is  not  required  nor  accepted  by  Jesus 
Christ  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


34  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Secondly,  Pregnant  Scriptures  and  Arguments  are  throughout 
the  Worke  proposed  against  the  Doctrine  of  Persecution  for  cause  of 
Conscience. 

Thirdly,  Satisfactorie  Answers  are  given  to  Scriptures,  and 
objections  produced  by  Mr.  Calvin,  Beza,  Mr.  Cotton,  and  the  Minis- 
ters of  the  New  English  Churches,  and  others  former  and  later, 
tending  to  prove  the  Doctrine  of  Persecution  for  cause  of  Conscience. 

Fourthly,  The  Doctrine  of  Persecution  for  cause  of  Conscience,  is 
proved  guilty  of  all  the  blood  of  the  Soules  crying  for  vengeance  under 
the  Altar. 

Fifthly,  All  Civill  Stales  with  their  Officers  of  justice  in  their 
respective  constitutions  and  administrations  are  proved  essentially 
Civill,  and  therefore  not  Judges,  Governours  or  Defendours  of  the 
Spirituall  or  Christian  state  and  Worship. 

Sixtly,  It  is  the  will  and  command  of  God,  that  (since  the  comming 
of  his  Sonne  the  Lard  Jesus)  a  permission  of  the  most  Paganish,  Jew-ish, 
Turkish  or  Antichristian  consciences  and  worships,  bee  granted  to  all 
men  in  all  Nations  and  Countries:  and  they  are  onely  to  bee  fought 
against  with  that  Sword,  which  is  only  (hi  Soule  matters')  able  to  conquer, 
to  wit,  the  Sword  of  Gods  Spirit,  the  Word  of  God. 

THE  ANSWER  OF  MR.  JOHN  COTTON  OF  BOSTON  IN  NEW-ENGLAND, 
TO    THE    AFORESAID    ARGUMENTS    AGAINST   PERSECUTION   FOR   CAUSE 

OF  CONSCIENCE 
PROFESSEDLY  MAINTEINING  PERSECUTION  FOR  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE 

The  Question  which  you  put,  is,  Whether  Persecution  for  cause 
of  Conscience,  be  not  against  the  Doctrine  of  Jesus  Christ  the  King  of 
Kings. 

Now  by  Persecution  for  Cause  of  Conscience,  I  conceive  you  meane, 
either  for  professing  some  point  of  Doctrine  which  you  believe  in 
Conscience  to  be  the  Truth,  or  for  practising  some  Worke  which  in 
Conscience  you  believe  to  be  a  Religious  Duty. 

Now  in  Points  of  Doctrine  some  are  fundamentall,  without  right 
beliefe  whereof  a  Man  cannot  be  saved:  Others  are  circumstantiall  or 
lesse  principall,  wherein  Men  may  differ  in  judgement,  without 
.prejudice  of  salvation  on  either  part. 

In  like  sort,  in  Points  of  Practice,  some  concerne  the  waightier 
Duties  of  the  Law,  as,  What  God  we  worship,  and  with  what  kinde  of 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  35 


Worship;  whether  such,  as  if  it  be  Right,  fellowship  with  God  is  held; 
if  Corrupt,  fellowship  with  Him  is  lost. 

Againe,  in  Points  of  Doctrine  and  Worship  lesse  Principall: 
either  they  are  held  forth  in  a  meeke  and  peaceable  way,  though  the 
Things  be  Erroneous  or  unlawfull:  Or  they  are  held  forth  with  such 
Arrogance  and  Impetuousnesse,  as  tendeth  and  reacheth  (even  of  it 
selfe)  to  the  disturbance  of  CivUl  Peace. 

Finally,  let  me  adde  this  one  distinction  more:  When  we  are 
persecuted  for  Conscience  sake,  It  is  either  for  Conscience  rightly 
informed,  or  for  erronious  and  blind  Conscience. 

These  things  premised,  I  would  lay  down  mine  Answer  to  the 
Question  in  certaine  Conclusions. 

First,  it  is  not  lawfull  to  persecute  any  for  Conscience  sake  Rightly 
informed;  for  in  persecuting  such,  Christ  himselfe  is  persecuted  in 
them,  Acts  9.4. 

Secondly,  for  an  Erronious  and  blind  Conscience,  (even  in  funda- 
mentall  and  weighty  Points)  It  is  not  lawfull  to  persecute  any,  till 
after  Admonition  once  or  twice:  and  so  the  Apostle  directeth,  Tit. 
3 . 10.  and  giveth  the  Reason,  that  infundamentall  and  principall  points 
of  Doctrine  or  Worship,  the  Word  of  God  in  such  things  is  so  cleare, 
that  hee  cannot  but  bee  convinced  in  Conscience  of  the  dangerous 
Errour  of  his  way,  after  once  or  twice  Admonition,  wisely  and  faith- 
fully dispensed.  And  then  if  any  one  persist,  it  is  not  out  of  Con- 
science, but  against  his  Conscience,  as  the  Apostle  saith  vers.  n. 
He  is  subverted  and  sinneth,  being  condemned  of  Himselfe,  that  is,  of 
his  owne  Conscience.  So  that  if  such  a  Man  after  such  Admonition 
shall  still  persist  in  the  Errour  of  his  way,  and  be  therefore  punished ; 
He  is  not  persecuted  for  Cause  of  Conscience,  but  for  sinning  against 
his  Owne  Conscience. 

Thirdly,  In  things  of  lesser  moment,  whether  Points  of  Doctrine 
or  Worship,  If  a  man  hold  them  forth  in  a  Spirit  of  Christian  Meek- 
nesse  and  Love  (though  with  Zeale  and  Constancie)  he  is  not  to  be 
persecuted,  but  tolerated,  till  God  may  be  pleased  to  manifest  his 
Truth  to  him,  Phil.  3. 17.  Rom.  14.  i,  2,  3,  4. 

But  if  a  Man  hold  forth  or  professe  any  Errour  or  false  way, 
with  a  boysterous  and  arrogant  spirit,  to  the  disturbance  of  Civill 
peace,  he  may  justly  be  punished  according  to  the  qualitie  and 
measure  of  the  disturbance  caused  by  him. 


36  AMERICAN  PROSE 


A  REPLY  TO  THE  AFORESAID  ANSWER  OF  MR.  COTTON 
IN  A  CONFERENCE  BETWEENE  TRUTH  AND  PEACE 

CHAP.  I. 

Truth.  In  what  darke  corner  of  the  World  (sweet  Peace)  are  we 
two  met  ?  How  hath  this  present  evill  World,  banished  Me  from  all 
the  Coasts  &  Quarters  of  it  ?  and  how  hath  the  Righteous  God  in 
judgement  taken  Thee  from  the  Earth,  Rev.  6.4. 

Peace.  "Pis  lamentably  true  (blessed  Truth)  the  foundations  of 
the  World  have  long  been  out  of  course:  the  Gates  of  Earth  and  Hell 
have  conspired  together  to  intercept  our  joyfull  meeting  and  our  holy 
kisses;  With  what  a  wearied,  tyred  Wing  have  I  flowne  over  Nations, 
Kingdqmes,  Cities,  Townes,  to  finde  out  precious  Truth  ? 

Truth.  The  like  enquiries  in  my  flights  and  travells  have  I 
made  for  Peace,  and  still  am  told,  she  hath  left  the  Earth,  and  fled  to 
Heaven. 

Peace.  Deare  Truth,  What  is  the  Earth  but  a  dungeon  of  dark- 
nesse,  where  Truth  is  not  ? 

Truth.  And  what  's  the  Peace  thereof  but  a  fleeting  dreame, 
thine  Ape  and  Counterfeit? 

Peace.  O  where  's  the  Promise  of  the  God  of  Heaven,  that  Right- 
eousnes  and  Peace  shall  kisse  each  other  ? 

Truth.  Patience  (sweet  Peace)  these  Heavens  and  Earth  are 
growing  0/d,  and  shall  be  changed  like  a  Garment,  Psal.  102.  They 
shall  melt  away,  and  be  burnt  up  with  all  the  Works  that  are  therein; 
and  the  most  high  Eternall  Creatour,  shall  gloriously  create  New 
Heavens  and  New  Earth,  wherein  dwells  Righetousnesse,  2  Pet.  3. 
Our  kisses  then  shall  have  their  endlesse  date  of  pure  and  sweetest 
joyes  ?  till  then  both  Thou  and  I  must  hope,  and  wait,  and  beare  the 
furie  of  the  Dragons  wrath,  whose  monstrous  Lies  and  Furies  shall 
with  himselfe  be  cast  into  the  lake  of  Fire,  the  second  death,  Revel.  20. 

Peace.  Most  precious  Truth,  thou  knowest  we  are  both  pursued 
and  laid  for:  Mine  heart  is  full  of  sighes,  mine  eyes  with  teares:  Where 
can  I  better  vent  my  full  oppressed  bosome,  then  into  thine,  whose 
faithfull  lips  may  for  these  few  houres  revive  my  drooping  wandring 
spirits,  and  here  begin  to  wipe  Teares  from  mine  eyes,  and  the  eyes 
of  my  dearest  Children  ? 

Truth.  Sweet  daughter  of  the  God  of  Peace,  begin;  powre  out 
thy  sorrowes,  vent  thy  complaints:  how  joyfull  am  I  to  improve 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  37 


these  precious  Minutes  to  revive  our  Hearts,  both  thine  and  mine,  and 
the  hearts  of  all  that  love  the  Truth  and  Peace,  Zach.  8. 

Peace.  Deare  Truth,  I  know  thy  birth,  thy  nature,  thy  delight. 
They  that  know  thee,  will  prize  thee  f arre  above  themselves  and  lives, 
and  sell  themselves  to  buy  thee.  Well  spake  that  famous  Elizabeth  to 
her  famous  Attorney  Sir  Edward  Coke:  Mr.  Attourney,  goe  on  as  thou 
hast  begun,  and  still  plead,  not  pro  Domina  Regina,  but  pro  Domino, 
Veritate. 

Truth.  "Pis  true,  my  Crowne  is  high,  my  Scepter  's  strong  to 
breake  down  strongest  holds,  to  throw  down  highest  Crownes  of  all 
that  plead  (though  but  in  thought)  against  me.  Some  few  there  are, 
but  oh  how  few  are  valiant  for  the  Truth,  and  dare  to  plead  my  Cause, 
as  my  Witnesses  in  sack-cloth,  Revel,  n.  While  all  mens  Tongues  are 
bent  like  Bowes  to  shoot  out  lying  words  against  Me! 

Peace.  O  how  could  I  spend  eternatt  dayes  and  endlesse  dates  at 
thy  holy  feet,  in  listning  to  the  precious  Oracles  of  thy  mouth!  All 
the  Words  of  thy  moutjh  are  Truth,  and  there  is  no  iniquity  in  them; 
Thy  lips  drop  as  the  hony-combe.  But  oh!  since  we  must  part 
anon,  let  us  (as  thou  saidst)  improve  our  Minutes,  and  (according  as 
thou  promisedst)  revive  me  with  thy  words,  which  are  sweeter  then 
the  honey,  and  the  honey-combe. 

CHAP.  II. 

Deare  Truth,  I  have  two  sad  Complaints: 

First,  The  most  sober  of  thy  Witnesses,  that  dare  to  plead  thy 
Cause,  how  are  they  charged  to  be  mine  Enemies,  contentious,  turbu- 
lent, seditious? 

Secondly,  Thine  Enemies,  though  they  speake  and  raile  against 
thee,  though  they  outragiously  pursue,  imprison,  banish,  kill  thy 
faithfull  Witnesses,  yet  how  is  all  vermillion'd  o're  for  Justice  'gainst 
the  Hereticks?  Yea,  if  they  kindle  coales,  and  blow  the  flames  of 
devouring  Warres,  that  leave  neither  Spirituall  nor  Civill  State,  but 
burns  up  Branch  and  Root,  yet  how  doe  all  pretend  an  holy  War? 
He  that  kills,  and  hee  that 's  kitted,  they  both  cry  out,  It  is  for  God,  and 
for  their  conscience. 

Tis  true,  nor  one  nor  other  seldome  dare  to  plead  the  mighty  Prince 
Christ  Jesus  for  their  Authour,  yet  both  (both  Protestant  and  Papist) 
pretend  they  have  spoke  with  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  who  all,  say 


38  AMERICAN  PROSE 


they  (before  Christ  came)  allowed  such  holy  persecutions,  holy  Warres 
against  the  enemies  of  holy  Church 

Truth.  Mine  eares  have  long  beene  filled  with  a  threefold 
dolefull  Outcry. 

First,  of  one  hundred  forty  foure  thousand  Virgins  (Rev.  14) 
forc'd  and  ravisht  by  Emperours,  Kings,  and  Governours  to  their  beds 
of  worship  and  Religion,  set  up  (like  A  bsaloms)  on  high  in  their  severall 
States  and  Countries. 

Secondly,  the  cry  of  those  precious  soules  under  the  Altar  (Rev.  6.) 
the  soules  of  such  as  have  beene  persecuted  and  slaine  for  the  testi- 
mony and  wilnesse  of  Jesus,  whose  bloud  hath  beene  spilt  like  water 
upon  the  earth,  and  that  because  they  have  held  fast  the  truth  and 
witnesse  of  Jesus,  against  the  worship  of  the  States  and  Times,  com- 
pelling to  an  uniformity  of  State  Religion. 

These  cries  of  murthered  Virgins  who  can  sit  still  and  heare? 
Who  can  but  run  with  zeale  inflamed  to  prevent  the  deflowring  of 
chaste  soules,  and  spilling  of  the  bloud  of  the  innocent  f  Humanity 
stirs  up  and  prompts  the  Sonnes  of  men  to  draw  materiall  swords  for  a 
Virgins  chastity  and  life,  against  a  ravishing  murtherer  ?  And  Piety 
and  Christianity  must  needs  awaken  the  Sons  of  God  to  draw  the 
spirituall  sword  (the  Word  of  God)  to  preserve  the  chastity  and  life 
of  spirituall  Virgins,  who  abhorre  the  spiritual  defilements  of  false 
worship,  Rev.  14. 

Thirdly,  the  cry  of  the  whole  earth,  made  drunke  with  the  bloud  of 
its  inhabitants,  slaughtering  each  other  in  their  blinded  zeale,  for 
Conscience,  for  Religion,  against  the  Calholickes,  against  the  Luther- 
ans, &c. 

What  fearfull  cries  within  these  twenty  years  of  hundred  thous- 
ands men,  women,  children,  fathers,  mothers,  husbands,  wives, 
brethren,  sisters,  old  and  young,  high  and  low,  plundred,  ravished, 
slaughtered,  murthered,  famished  ?  And  hence  these  cries,  that  men 
fling  away  the  spirituall  sword  and  spirituall  artillery  (in  spirituall 
and  religious  causes)  and  rather  trust  for  the  suppressing  of  each 
others  God,  Conscience,  and  Religion  (as  they  suppose)  to  an  arme 
of  flesh,  and  sword  of  steele? 

Truth.    Sweet  Peace,  what  hast  thou  there? 

Peace.    Arguments  against  persecution  for  cause  of  Conscience. 

Truth.    And  what  there  ? 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  39 


Peace.  An  Answer  to  such  Arguments,  contrarily  maintaining 
such  persecution  for  cause  of  Conscience. 

Truth.  These  Arguments  against  such  persecution,  and  the 
Answer  pleading  for  it,  written  (as  Love  hopes)  from  godly  intentions, 
hearts,  and  hands,  yet  in  a  marvellous  different  stile  and  manner.  The 
Arguments  against  persecution  in  milke,  the  ylwswer  for  it  (as  I  may 
say)  in  bloud. 

The  Aulhour  of  these  Arguments  (against  persecution)  (as  I  have 
beene  informed)  being  committed  by  some  then  in  power,  close 
prisoner  to  Newgate  for  the  witnesse  of  some  truths  of  Jesus,  and 
having  not  the  use  of  Pen  and  Inke,  wrote  these  Arguments  in  Milke, 
in  sheets  of  Paper,  brought  to  him  by  the  Woman  his  Keeper,  from  a 
friend  in  London,  as  the  stopples  of  his  M*7&  fo#/e. 

In  such  Paper  written  with  Milk  nothing  will  appeare,  but  the 
way  of  reading  it  by  fire  being  knowne  to  this  friend  who  received  the 
Papers,  he  transcribed  and  kept  together  the  Papers,  although  the 
Author  himself e  could  not  correct,  nor  view  what  himself e  had 
written. 

It  was  in  milke,  tending  to  soule  nourishment,  even  for  Babes  and 
Sucklings  in  Christ. 

It  was  in  milke,  spiritually  white,  pure  and  innocent,  like  those 
white  horses  of  the  Word  of  truth  and  meeknesse,  and  the  white  Linnen 
or  Armour  of  righteousnesse,  in  the  Army  of  Jesus.  Rev.  6 .  &  19. 

It  was  in  milke,  soft,  meeke,  peaceable  and  gentle,  tending  both  to 
the  peace  of  soules,  and  the  peace  of  States  and  Kingdomes. 

Peace.  The  Answer  (though  I  hope  out  of  milkie  pure  intentions) 
is  returned  in  bloud:  bloudy  &  slaughterous  conclusions;  bloudy  to  the 
souls  of  all  men,  forc'd  to  the  Religion  and  Worship  which  every  civil 
State  or  Common-weale  agrees  on,  and  compells  all  subjects  to  in  a 
dissembled  uniformitie. 

Bloudy  to  the  bodies,  first  of  the  holy  witnesses  of  Christ  Jesus, 
who  testifie  against  such  invented  worships. 

Secondly,  of  the  Nations  and  Peoples  slaughtering  each  other  for 
their  severall  respective  Religions  and  Consciences. 

CHAP.  III. 

Truth.  In  the  Answer  Mr.  Cotton  first  layes  downe  severall 
distinctions  and  conclusions  of  his  owne,  tending  to  prove  persecution. 


40  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Secondly,  Answers  to  the  Scriptures,  and  Arguments  proposed 
against  persecution. 

Peace.  The  first  distinction  is  this:  By  persecution  for  cause 
of  Conscience,  "I  conceive  you  meane  either  for  professing  some 
point  of  doctrine  which  you  beleeve  in  conscience  to  be  the  truth,  or 
for  practising  some  worke  which  you  beleeve  in  conscience  to  be  a 
religious  dutie." 

Truth.  I  acknowledge  that  to  molest  any  person,  Jew  or  Gentile, 
for  either  professing  doctrine,  or  practising  worship  meerly  religious  or 
spirituall,  it  is  to  persecute  him,  and  such  a  person  (what  ever,  his 
doctrine  or  practice  be,  true  or  false )  suffereth  persecution  for  con- 
science. 

But  withall  I  desire  it  may  bee  well  observed,  that  this  distinction 
is  not  full  and  complete :  For  beside  this  that  a  man  may  be  persecuted 
because  he  holdeth  or  practiseth  what  he  beleeves  in  conscience  to  be 
a  Truth,  (as  Daniel  did,  for  which  he  was  cast  into  the  Lyons  den, 
Dan.  6.)  and  many  thousands  of  Christians,  because  they  durst  not 
cease  to  preach  and  practise  what  they  beleeved  was  by  God  com- 
manded, as  the  Apostles  answered  (Acts  4  &  5.)  I  say  besides  this  a 
man  may  also  be  persecuted,  because  hee  dares  not  be  constrained  to 
yeeld  obedience  to  such  doctrines  and  worships  as  are  by  men  invented 
and  appointed.  So  the  three  famous  Jewes  were  cast  into  the  fiery 
furnace  for  refusing  to  fall  downe  (in  a  nonconformity  to  the  whole 
conforming  world)  before  the  golden  Image,  Dan.  3.21.  So  thousands 
of  Christs  witnesses  (and  of  late  in  those  bloudy  Marian  dayes)  have 
rather  chose  to  yeeld  their  bodies  to  all  sorts  of  torments,  then  to 
subscribe  to  doctrines,  or  practise  worships,  unto  which  the  States  and 
Times  (as  Nabuchadnezzar  to  his  golden  Image)  have  compelled  and 
urged  them 

CHAP.  IV. 

Peace.    The  second  distinction  is  this. 

In  points  of  Doctrine  some  are  fundamentall,  without  right 
beleefe  whereof  a  man  cannot  be  saved:  others  are  circumstantiall 
and  lesse  principall,  wherein  a  man  may  differ  in  judgement  without 
prejudice  of  salvation  on  either  part. 

Truth.  To  this  distinction  I  dare  not  subscribe,  for  then  I  should 
everlastingly  condemne  thousands,  and  ten  thousands,  yea  the 


ROGER  WILLIAMS  41 


whole  generation  of  the  righteous,  who  since  the  falling  away  (from  the 
first  primitive  Christian  state  or  worship)  have  and  doe  erre  funda- 
mentally concerning  the  true  matter,  constitution,  gathering  and 
governing  of  the  Church:  and  yet  farre  be  it  from  any  pious  breast 
to  imagine  that  they  are  not  saved,  and  that  their  soules  are  not 
bound  up  in  the  bundle  of  eternall  life 

CHAP.  XI. 

Peace.  After  explication  in  these  Distinctions,  it  pleaseth  the 
Answerer  to  give  his  resolution  to  the  question  in  foure  particulars. 

First,  that  he  holds  it  not  lawfull  to  persecute  any  for  conscience 
sake  rightly  informed,  for  in  persecuting  such  (saith  he)  Christ 
himself  is  persecuted:  for  which  reason,  truly  rendred,  he  quotes 
Act.  9.4.  Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  thoume? 

Truth.  He  that  shall  reade  this  Conclusion  over  a  thousand 
times,  shall  as  soone  finde  darknesse  in  the  bright  beames  of  the 
Sunne,  as  in  this  so  cleare  and  shining  a  beanie  of  Truth,  viz.  That 
Christ  Jesus  in  his  Truth  must  not  be  persecuted. 

Yet  this  I  must  aske  (for  it  will  be  admired  by  all  sober  men) 
what  should  be  the  cause  or  inducement  to  the  Answerers  mind  to 
lay  down  such  a  Position  or  Thesis  as  this  is,  It  is  not  lawfull  to  perse- 
cute the  Lord  Jesus. 

Search  all  Scriptures,  Histories,  Records,  Monuments,  consult 
with  all  experiences,  did  ever  Pharaoh,  Saul,  Ahab,  Jezabel,  Scribes  and 
Pharises,  the  Jewes,  Herod,  the  bloudy  Neroes,  Gardiners,  Boners, 
Pope  or  Devill  himselfe,  professe  to  persecute  the  Son  of  God,  Jesus 
as  Jesus,  Christ  as  Christ,  without  a  mask  or  covering  ? 

No,  saith  Pharaoh,  the  Israelites  are  idle,  and  therefore  speake 
they  of  sacrificing:  David  is  risen  up  in  a  conspiracy  against  Saul, 
therefore  persecute  him:  Naboth  hath  blasphemed  God  and  the 
King,  therefore  stone  him:  Christ  is  a  seducer  of  the  people,  a  blas- 
phemer against  God,  and  tray  tor  against  Casar,  therefore  hang  him: 
Christians  are  schismaticall,  factious,  hereticall,  therefore  persecute 
them:  The  Devill  hath  deluded  John  Hus,  therefore  crowne  him  with 
a  paper  of  Devils,  and  burne  him,  &c. 

Peace.  One  thing  I  see  apparantly  in  the  Lords  over-ruling  the 
pen  of  this  worthy  Answerer,  viz.  a  secret  whispering  from  heaven  to 
him,  that  (although  his  soules  ayme  at  Christ,  and  hath  wrought 


42  AMERICAN  PROSE 


much  for  Christ  in  many  sincere  intentions,  and  Gods  mercifull  and 
patient  acceptance)  yet  he  hath  never  left  the  Tents  of  such  who 
think  they  doe  God  good  service  in  killing  the  Lord  Jesus  in  his 
servants,  and  yet  they  say,  if  we  had  beene  in  the  dayes  of  our  Fathers 
in  Queen  Maries  dayes,  &c.  we  would  never  have  consented  to  such 
persecution:  And  therefore  when  they  persecute  Christ  Jesus  in  his 
truths  or  servants,  they  say,  Doe  not  say  you  are  persecuted  for  the 
Word  for  Christ  his  sake,  for  we  hold  it  not  lawfull  to  persecute  Jesus 
Christ. 

Let  me  also  adde  a  second;  So  farre  as  he  hath  beene  a  Guide  (by 
preaching  for  persecution)  I  say,  wherein  he  hath  beene  a  Guide  and 
Leader,  by  mis-interpreting  and  applying  the  Writings  of  Truth,  so 
far  I  say  his  owne  mouthes  and  hands  shall  judge  (I  hope  not  his 
persons,  but)  his  actions,  for  the  Lord  Jesus  hath  suffered  by  him, 
Act.  g.  3.  and  if  the  Lord  Jesus  himselfe  were  present,  himselfe  should 
suffer  that  in  his  owne  person,  which  his  servants  witnessing  his 
Truth  doe  suffer  for  his  sake. 


NATHANIEL  WARD 

FROM 

THE  SIMPLE  COBLER  OF  AGGAWAM 

THE  IMPIOUS  DOCTRINE   OF  TOLERATION 

Either  I  am  in  an  Appoplexie,  or  that  man  is  in  a  Lethargic, 
who  doth  not  now  sensibly  feele  God  shaking  the  heavens  over  his 
head,  and  the  earth  under  his  feet :  The  Heavens  so,  as  the  Sun  begins 
to  turne  into  darknesse,  the  Moon  into  blood,  the  Starres  to  fall 
down  to  the  ground;  So  that  little  Light  of  Comfort  or  Counsell  is  left 
to  the  sonnes  of  men:  The  Earth  so,  as  the  foundations  are  failing, 
the  righteous  scarce  know  where  to  finde  rest,  the  inhabitants  stagger 
like  drunken  men :  it  is  in  a  manner  dissolved  both  in  Religions  and 
Relations:  And  no  marvell;  for,  they  have  defiled  it  by  transgressing 
the  Lawes,  changing  the  Ordinances,  and  breaking  the  Everlasting 
Covenant.  The  Truths  of  God  are  the  Pillars  of  the  world,  whereon 
States  and  Churches  may  stand  quiet  if  they  will;  if  they  will 
not,  Hee  can  easily  shake  them  off  into  delusions,  and  distractions 
enough. 


NATHANIEL  WARD  43 


Sathan  is  now  in  his  passions,  he  feeles  his  passion  approaching; 
hee  loves  to  fish  in  royled  waters.  Though  that  Dragon  cannot  sting 
the  vitals  of  the  Elect  mortally,  yet  that  Beelzebub  can  fly-blow  their 
Intellectuals  miserably:  The  finer  Religion  grows,  the  finer  hee  spins 
his  Cobwebs,  hee  will  hold  pace  with  Christ  so  long  as  his  wits  will 
serve  him.  Hee  sees  himselfe  beaten  out  of  grosse  Idolatries,  Heresies, 
Ceremonies,  where  the  Light  breakes  forth  with  power;  he  will 
therefore  bestirre  him  to  prevaricate  Evangelicall  Truths,  and  Ordi- 
nances, that  if  they  will  needs  be  walking,  yet  they  shall  laborare 
varicibus,  and  not  keep  their  path:  he  will  put  them  out  of  time  and 
place;  Assascinating  for  his  Engineers,  men  of  Paracelsian  parts; 
well  complexioned  for  honesty;  for,  such  are  fittest  to  Mountebanke 
his  Chimistry  into  sick  Churches  and  weake  Judgements. 

Nor  shall  hee  neede  to  stretch  his  strength  overmuch  in  this 
worke:  Too  many  men  having  not  laid  their  foundations  sure,  nor 
ballasted  their  Spirits  deepe  with  humility  and  feare,  are  prest  enough 
of  themselves  to  evaporate  their  owne  apprehensions.  Those  that 
are  acquainted  with  Story  know,  it  hath  ever  been  so  in  new  Editions 
of  Churches:  Such  as  are  least  able,  are  most  busie  to  pudder  in  the 
rubbish,  and  to  raise  dust  in  the  eyes  of  more  steady  Repayrers. 
Civill  Commotions  make  roome  for  uncivill  practises:  Religious 
mutations,  for  irreligious  opinions:  Change  of  Aire,  discovers  corrupt 
bodies;  Reformation  of  Religion,  unsound  mindes.  Hee  that  hath 
any  well-faced  phansy  in  his  Crowne,  and  doth  not  vent  it  now,  fears 
the  pride  of  his  owne  heart  will  dub  him  dunce  for  ever.  Such  a  one 
will  trouble  the  whole  Israel  of  God  with  his  most  untimely  births, 
though  he  makes  the  bones  of  his  vanity  sticke  up,  to  the  view  and 
griefe  of  all  that  are  godly  wise.  The  devill  desires  no  better  sport 
then  to  see  light  heads  handle  their  heels,  and  fetch  their  carreers  in  a 
tune,  when  the  Roofe  of  Liberty  stands  open. 

The  next  perplexed  Question,  with  pious  and  ponderous  men, 
will  be:  What  should  bee  done  for  the  healing  of  these  comfortlesse 
exulcerations.  I  am  the  unablest  adviser  of  a  thousand,  the  unworthi- 
est  of  ten  thousand;  yet  I  hope  I  may  presume  to  assert  what  follows 
without  just  offence. 

First,  such  as  have  given  or  taken  any  unfriendly  reports  of  us 
New-English,  should  doe  well  to  recollect  themselves.  Wee  have 
beene  reputed  a  Colluvies  of  wild  Opinionists,  swarmed  into  a  remote 


44  AMERICAN  PROSE 


wildernes  to  find  elbow-roome  for  our  phanatick  Doctrines  and 
practices:  I  trust  our  diligence  past,  and  constant  sedulity  against 
such  persons  and  courses,  will  plead  better  things  for  us.  I  dare 
take  upon  me,  to  bee  the  Herauld  of  New-England  so  fane,  as  to 
proclaime  to  the  world,  in  the  name  of  our  Colony,  that  all  Familists, 
Antinomians,  Anabaptists,  and  other  Enthusiasts,  shall  have  free 
Liberty  to  keep  away  from  us,  and  such  as  will  come  to  be  gone  as 
fast  as  they  can,  the  sooner  the  beter. 

Secondly,  I  dare  averre,  that  God  doth  no  where  in  his  word 
tolerate  Christian  States,  to  give  Tolerations  to  such  adversaries  of 
his  Truth,  if  they  have  power  in  their  hands  to  suppresse  them. 

Here  is  lately  brought  us  an  Extract  of  a  Magna  Charta,  so  called, 
compiled  between  the  Sub-planters  of  a  West-Indian  Island ;  whereof 
the  first  Article  of  constipulation,  firmely  provides  free  stable-room 
and  litter  for  all  kinde  of  consciences,  be  they  never  so  dirty  or  jadish; 
making  it  actionable,  yea,  treasonable,  to  disturbe  any  man  in  his 
Religion,  or  to  discommend  it,  whatever  it  be.  Wee  are  very  sorry 
to  see  such  professed  prophanenesse  in  English  Professors,  as  indus- 
triously to  lay  their  Religious  foundations  on  the  ruine  of  true 
religion;  which  strictly  binds  every  conscience  to  contend  earnestly 
for  the  Truth:  to  preserve  unity  of  spirit,  faith  and  Ordinances,  to 
be  all  like-minded,  of  one  accord ;  every  man  to  take  his  brother  into 
his  Christian  care:  to  stand  fast  with  one  spirit,  with  one  mind, 
striving  together  for  the  faith  of  the  Gospel:  and  by  no  meanes  to 
permit  Heresies  or  erronious  opinions:  But  God  abhorring  such 
loathsome  beverages,  hath  in  his  righteous  judgement  blasted  that 
enterprise,  which  might  otherwise  have  prospered  well,  for  ought  I 
know;  I  presume  their  case  is  generally  knowne  ere  this. 

If  the  devill  might  have  his  free  option,  I  beleeve  he  would  ask 
nothing  else,  but  liberty  to  enfranchize  all  false  Religions,  and  to 
embondage  the  true;  nor  should  hee  need:  It  is  much  to  be  feared, 
that  laxe  Tolerations  upon  State-pretences  and  planting  necessities, 
will  be  the  next  subtle  Stratagem  he  will  spread  to  distate  the  Truth 
of  God  and  supplant  the  peace  of  the  Churches.  Tolerations  in  things 
tolerable,  exquisitely  drawn  out  by  the  lines  of  the  Scripture,  and 
pensill  of  the  Spirit,  are  the  sacred  favours  of  Truth,  the  due  latitudes 
of  Love,  the  faire  Compartiments  of  Christian  fraternity:  but  irregu- 
lar dispensations,  dealt  forth  by  the  facilities  of  men,  are  the  frontiers 


NATHANIEL  WARD  45 


of  errour,  the  redoubts  of  Schisme,  the  perillous  irritaments  of  carnall 
and  spirituall  enmity. 

My  heart  hath  naturally  detested  foure  things :  The  standing  of 
the  Apocrypha  in  the  Bible;  Forrainers  dwelling  in  my  Countrey, 
to  crowd  out  native  Subjects  into  the  corners  of  the  Earth;  Alchy- 
mized  comes;  Tolerations  of  divers  Religions,  or  of  one  Religion  in 
segregant  shapes:  He  that  willingly  assents  to  the  last,  if  he  examines 
his  heart  by  day-light,  his  conscience  will  tell  him,  he  is  either  an 
Atheist,  or  an  Heretique,  or  an  Hypocrite,  or  at  best  a  captive  to  some 
Lust :  poly-piety  is  the  greatest  impiety  in  the  world.  True  Religion  is 
Ignis  probationis,  which  doth  congregate  homogenea  6*  segregate 
heterogenia. 

Not  to  tolerate  things  meerly  indifferent  to  weak  consciences, 
argues  a  conscience  too  strong:  pressed  uniformity  in  these,  causes 
much  disunity:  To  tolerate  more  than  indifferents,  is  not  to  deale 
indifferently  with  God;  He  that  doth  it,  takes  his  Scepter  out  of 
his  hand,  and  bids  him  stand  by.  Who  hath  to  doe  to  institute 
Religion  but  God.  The  power  of  all  Religion  and  Ordinances,  lies 
in  their  purity:  their  purity  in  then*  simplicity:  then  are  mixtures 
pernicious.  I  lived  in  a  City,  where  a  Papist  preached  hi  one 
Church,  a  Lutheran  in  another,  a  Calvinist  hi  a  third;  a  Lutheran 
one  part  of  the  day,  a  Calvinist  the  other,  hi  the  same  Pulpit:  the 
Religion  of  that  place  was  but  motly  and  meagre,  their  affections 
Leopard-like. 

If  the  whole  Creature  should  conspire  to  doe  the  Creator  a  mis- 
chiefe,  or  offer  him  an  insolency,  it  would  be  in  nothing  more,  than  hi 
erecting  untruths  against  his  Truth,  or  by  sophisticating  his  Truths 
with  humane  medleyes:  the  removing  of  some  one  iota  in  Scripture, 
may  draw  out  all  the  life,  and  traverse  all  the  Truth  of  the  whole  Bible: 
but  to  authorise  an  untruth,  by  a  Toleration  of  State,  is  to  build  a 
Sconce  against  the  walls  of  heaven,  to  batter  God  out  of  his  Chaire: 
To  tell  a  practicall  lye,  is  a  great  sin,  but  yet  transient;  but  to  set  up  a 
Theoricall  untruth,  is  to  warrant  every  lye  that  lyes  from  its  root  to  the 
top  of  every  branch  it  hath,  which  are  not  a  few 

Concerning  Tolerations  I  may  further  assert. 

That  Persecution  of  true  Religion,  and  Toleration  of  false,  are 
the  Jannes  and  Jambres  to  the  Kingdome  of  Christ,  whereof  the  last 
is  farre  the  worst.  Augustines  tongue  had  not  owed  his  mouth  one 


46  AMERICAN  PROSE 


penny-rent  though  it  had  never  spake  word  more  in  it,  but  this, 
Nuttum  malum  pejus  libertate  errandi. 

Frederick  Duke  of  Saxon,  spake  not  one  foote  beyond  the  mark 
when  he  said,  He  had  rather  the  Earth  should  swallow  him  up 
quick,  then  he  should  give  a  toleration  to  any  opinion  against  any 
truth  of  God. 

He  that  is  willing  to  tolerate  any  Religion,  or  discrepant  way  of 
Religion,  besides  his  own,  unlesse  it  be  in  matters  meerly  indifferent, 
either  doubts  of  his  own,  or  is  not  sincere  in  it. 

He  that  is  willing  to  tolerate  any  unsound  Opinion,  that  his  own 
may  also  be  tolerated,  though  never  so  sound,  will  for  a  need  hang 
Gods  Bible  at  the  Devils  girdle. 

Every  Toleration  of  false  Religions,  or  Opinions  hath  as  many 
Errours  and  sins  in  it,  as  all  the  false  Religions  and  Opinions  it  toler- 
ates, and  one  sound  one  more. 

That  State  that  will  give  Liberty  of  Conscience  in  matters  of 
Religion,  must  give  Liberty  of  Conscience  and  Conversation  in  their 
Morall  Laws,  or  else  the  Fiddle  will  be  out  of  tune,  and  some  of  the 
strings  cracke. 

WOMEN'S  FASHIONS  AND  LONG  HAIR  ON  MEN 

Should  I  not  keep  promise  in  speaking  a  little  to  Womens  fashions, 
they  would  take  it  unkindly:  I  was  loath  to  pester  better  matter  with 
such  stuff e;  I  rather  thought  it  meet  to  let  them  stand  by  themselves, 
like  the  Qua  Genus  in  the  Grammer,  being  Deficients,  or  Redundants, 
not  to  be  brought  under  any  Rule:  I  shall  therefore  make  bold  for 
this  once,  to  borrow  a  little  of  their  loose  tongued  Liberty,  and  mispend 
a  word  or  two  upon  their  long- wasted,  but  short-skirted  patience:  a 
little  use  of  my  stirrup  will  doe  no  harme. 

Redendem  dicer  e  verum,  quid  prohibit  ? 

Gray  Gravity  it  selfe  can  well  beteame, 

That  Language  be  adopted  to  the  Theme. 

Hee  that  to  Parrots  speaks,  must  parrotise; 

He  that  instructs  afoole,  may  act  th'  unwise. 

It  is  known  more  then  enough,  that  I  am  neither  Nigard,  nor 
Cinick,  to  the  due  bravery  of  the  true  Gentry:  if  any  man  mislikes  a 
bully  mong  drossock  more  then  I,  let  him  take  her  for  all  mee:  I 


NATHANIEL  WARD  47 


honour  the  woman  that  can  honour  her  self  with  her  attire:  a  good 
Text  alwayes  deserves  a  fair  Margent:  I  am  not  much  offended,  if  I 
see  a  trimme,  far  trimmer  than  she  that  wears  it:  in  a  word,  whatever 
Christianity  or  Civility  will  allow,  I  can  afford  with  London  measure: 
but  when  I  heare  a  nugiperous  Gentledame  inquire  what  dresse  the 
Queen  is  in  this  week:  what  the  nudiustertian  fashion  of  the  Court; 
I  meane  the  very  newest:  with  egge  to  be  in  it  in  all  hast,  what  ever  it 
be;  I  look  at  her  as  the  very  gizzard  of  a  trifle,  the  product  of  a  quarter 
of  a  cypher,  the  epitome  of  nothing,  fitter  to  be  kickt,  if  shee  were  of  a 
kickable  substance,  than  either  honoured  or  humoured. 

To  speak  moderately,  I  truly  confesse,  it  is  beyond  the  kin  of  my 
understanding  to  conceive,  how  those  women  should  have  any  true 
grace,  or  valuable  vertue,  that  have  so  little  wit,  as  to  disfigure  them- 
selves with  such  exotick  garbes,  as  not  only  dismantles  then-  native 
lovely  lustre,  but  transclouts  them  into  gant  bar-geese,  ill-shapen- 
shotten-shell-fish,  Egyptian  Hyeroglyphicks,  or  at  the  best  into  French 
flurts  of  the  pastery,  which  a  proper  English  woman  should  scorne  with 
her  heeles :  it  is  no  marvell  they  weare  drailes,  on  the  hinder  part  of 
their  heads,  having  nothing  as  it  seems  in  the  fore-part,  but  a  few 
Squirrills  braines,  to  help  them  frisk  from  one  ill-favor'd  fashion  to 
another. 

These  whimm'  Crown' d  shees,  these  fashion-fansying  wits, 
Are  empty  thin  brain1  d  shells  and  fidling  Kits, 

the  very  troublers  and  impovirishers  of  mankind.  I  can  hardly  for- 
bear to  commend  to  the  world  a  saying  of  a  Lady  living  sometime 
with  the  Queen  of  Bohemiah,  I  know  not  where  she  found  it,  but  it  is 
pitty  it  should  be  lost. 

The  world  is  full  of  care,  much  like  unto  a  bubble; 

Women  and  care,  and  care  and  women,  and  women  and  care  and  trouble. 

The  Verses  are  even  enough  for  such  odde  pegma's.  I  can  make 
my  selfe  sick  at  any  tune,  with  comparing  the  dazzeling  splender 
wherwith  our  Gentlewomen  were  embellished  in  some  former  habits, 
with  the  gut-f  oundred  goosdom,  wherewith  they  are  now  surcingled  and 
debauched.  We  have  about  five  or  six  of  them  in  our  Colony:  if  I  see 
any  of  them  accidentally,  I  cannot  cleanse  my  phansie  of  them  for  a 
moneth  after.  I  have  been  a  solitary  widdower  almost  twelve  years, 
purposed  lately  to  make  a  step  over  to  my  Native  Country  for  a 


48  AMERICAN  PROSE 


yoke-fellow:  but  when  I  consider  how  women  there  have  tripe- wif ted 
themselves  with  their  cladments,  I  have  no  heart  to  the  voyage,  lest 
their  nauseous  shapes  and  the  Sea,  should  work  too  sorely  upon  my 
stomach.  I  speak  sadly;  me  thinkes  it  should  break  the  hearts  of 
English-men,  to  see  so  many  goodly  English-women  imprisoned  in 
French  Cages,  peering  out  of  their  hood-holes  for  some  men  of  mercy 
to  help  them  with  a  little  wit,  and  no  body  relieves  them. 

It  is  a  more  common  then  convenient  saying,  that  nine  Taylers 
make  a  man:  it  were  well  if  nineteene  could  make  a  woman  to  her 
mind:  if  Taylors  were  men  indeed,  well  furnished  but  with  meer 
morall  principles,  they  would  disdain  to  be  led  about  like  Apes,  by 
such  mymick  Marmosets.  It  is  a  most  unworthy  thing,  for  men 
that  have  bones  in  them,  to  spend  their  lives  in  making  fidle-cases  for 
futilous  womens  phansies;  which  are  the  very  pettitoes  of  infirmity, 
the  gyblits  of  perquisquilian  toyes.  I  am  so  charitable  to  think,  that 
most  of  that  mistery  would  worke  the  cheerfuller  while  they  live,  if 
they  might  be  well  discharged  of  the  tyring  slavery  of  mis-tyring 
women:  it  is  no  labour  to  be  continually  putting  up  English-women 
into  Out-landish  caskes;  who  if  they  be  not  shifted  anew,  once  in  a 
few  moneths,  grow  too  sowre  for  then:  Husbands.  What  this  Trade 
will  answer  for  themselves  when  God  shall  take  measure  of  Taylors 
consciences  is  beyond  my  skill  to  imagine.  There  was  a  tune  when 

Thejoyning  of  the  Red-Rose  with  the  White, 
Did  set  our  State  into  a  Damask  plight. 

But  now  our  Roses  are  turned  to  Flore  de  lices,  our  Carnations 
to  Tulips,  our  Gilliflowers  to  pansies,  our  City-Dames,  to  an  inde- 
nominable  Quaemalry  of  overturcas'd  things.  Hee  that  makes 
Coates  for  the  Moone,  had  need  take  measure  every  noone;  and  he 
that  makes  for  women,  every  Moone,  to  keepe  them  from  Lunacy. 

I  have  often  heard  divers  Ladies  vent  loud  feminine  complaints 
of  the  wearisome  varieties  and  chargable  changes  of  fashions:  I 
marvell  themselves  preferre  not  a  Bill  of  redresse.  I  would  Essex 
Ladies  would  lead  the  Chore,  for  the  honour  of  their  County  and 
persons;  or  rather  the  thrice  honourable  Ladies  of  the  Court,  whom  it 
best  beseems:  who  may  wel  presume  of  a  Le  Roy  le  veult  from  our 
sober  King,  a  Les  Seigneurs  ont  Assentus  from  our  prudent  Peers,  and 
the  like  Assentus,  from  our  considerate,  I  dare  not  say  wife-worne 


NATHANIEL  WARD  49 


Commons:  who  I  beleeve  had  much  rather  passe  one  such  Bill,  than 
pay  so  many  Taylors  Bils  as  they  are  forced  to  doe. 

Most  deare  and  unparallel'd  Ladyes,  be  pleased  to  attempt  it: 
as  you  have  the  precellency  of  the  women  of  the  world  for  beauty  and 
feature;  so  assume  the  honour  to  give,  and  not  take  Law  from  any, 
in  matter  of  attire:  if  ye  can  transact  so  faire  a  motion  among  your 
selves  unanimously,  I  dare  say,  they  that  most  renite,  will  least  repent. 
What  greater  honour  can  your  Honors  desire,  then  to  build  a  Promon- 
tory president  to  all  foraigne  Ladies,  to  deserve  so  eminently  at  the 
hands  of  all  the  English  Gentry  present  and  to  come :  and  to  confute 
the  opinion  of  all  the  wise  men  in  the  world;  who  never  thought  it 
possible  for  women  to  doe  so  good  a  work  ? 

I  addresse  my  selfe  to  those  who  can  both  hear  and  mend  all  if 
they  please:  I  seriously  feare,  if  the  pious  Parliament  doe  not  finde  a 
time  to  state  fashions,  as  ancient  Parliaments  have  done  in  some  part, 
God  will  hardly  finde  a  tune  to  state  Religion  or  Peace:  They  are 
the  surguedryes  of  pride,  the  wantonnesse  of  idlenesse,  provoking 
sins,  the  certain  prodromies  of  assured  judgement,  Zeph.  i.  7,  8. 

It  is  beyond  all  account,  how  many  Gentlemens  and  Citizens 
estates  are  deplumed  by  their  feather-headed  wives,  what  usefull 
supplies  the  pannage  of  England  would  afford  other  Countries,  what 
rich  returnes  to  it  selfe,  if  it  were  not  slic'd  out  into  male  and  female 
fripperies:  and  what  a  multitude  of  mis-employ'd  hands,  might  be 
better  improv'd  in  some  more  manly  Manufactures  for  the  publique 
weale:  it  is  not  easily  credible,  what  may  be  said  of  the  preterplurali- 
ties  of  Taylors  in  London:  I  have  heard  an  honest  man  say  that  not 
long  since  there  were  numbered  between  Temple-barre  and  Charing- 
crosse,  eight  thousand  of  that  Trade:  let  it  be  conjectured  by  that 
proportion  how  many  there  are  in  and  about  London,  and  in  all  Eng- 
land, they  will  appeare  to  be  very  numerous.  If  the  Parliament 
would  please  to  mend  women,  which  their  Husbands  dare  not 
doe,  there  need  not  so  many  men  to  make  and  'mend  as  there  are.  I 
hope  the  present  dolefull  estate  of  the  Realme,  will  perswade  more 
strongly  to  some  considerate  course  herein,  than  I  now  can. 

Knew  I  how  to  bring  it  in,  I  would  speak  a  word  to  long  haire, 
whereof  I  will  say  no  more  but  this:  if  God  proves  not  such  a  Barbor 
to  it  as  he  threatens,  unlesse  it  be  amended,  Esa.  7 . 20.  before  the 
Peace  of  the  State  and  Church  be  well  setled,  then  let  my  prophecy 


50  AMERICAN  PROSE 


be  scorned,  as  a  sound  minde  scornes  the  ryot  of  that  sin,  and  more  it 
needs  not.  If  those  who  are  tearmed  Rattle-heads  and  impuritans, 
would  take  up  a  Resolution  to  begin  in  moderation  of  haire,  to  the 
just  reproach  of  those  that  are  called  Puritans  and  Round-heads,  I 
would  honour  their  manlinesse,  as  much  as  the  others  godlinesse,  so 
long  as  I  knew  what  man  or  honour  meant:  if  neither  can  finde  a 
Barbours  shop,  let  them  turne  in,  to  Psal.  68.  21.  Jer.  7.29.  i  Cor. 
ii.  14.  If  it  be  thought  no  wisedome  in  men  to  distinguish  them- 
selves in  the  field  by  the  Scissers,  let  it  be  thought  no  injustice  in  God, 
not  to  distinguish  them  by  the  Sword.  I  had  rather  God  should 
know  me  by  my  sobriety,  than  mine  enemy  not  know  me  by  my 
vanity.  He  is  ill  kept,  that  is  kept  by  his  own  sin.  A  short  promise, 
is  a  farre  safer  guard  than  a  long  lock:  it  is  an  ill  distinction  which 
God  is  loth  to  looke  at  and  his  Angels  cannot  know  his  Saints  by. 
Though  it  be  not  the  mark  of  the  Beast,  yet  it  may  be  the  mark  of  a 
beast  prepared  to  slaughter.  I  am  sure  men  use  nott  to  weare  such 
manes;  I  am  also  sure  Souldiers  use  to  weare  other  marklets  or 
notadoes  in  time  of  battell. 


JOHN  MASON 

FROM 

A  BRIEF  HISTORY  OF  THE  PEQUOT  WAR 

On  the  Thursday  about  eight  of  the  Clock  in  the  Morning,  we 
Marched  thence  towards  PEQUOT,  with  about  five  hundred  Indians: 
But  through  the  Heat  of  the  Weather  and  want  of  Provisions,  some 
of  our  Men  Fainted:  And  having  Marched  about  twelve  Miles,  we 
came  to  Pawcatuck  River,  at  a  Ford  where  our  Indians  told  us  the 
P equals  did  usually  Fish;  there  making  an  Alta,  we  stayed  some 
small  tune:  The  Narragansett  Indians  manifesting  great  Fear,  in  so 
much  that  many  of  them  returned,  although  they  had  frequently 
despised  us,  saying,  That  we  durst  not  look  upon  a  PEQUOT,  but  them- 
selves would  perform  great  Things;  though  we  had  often  told  them 
that  we  came  on  purpose  and  were  resolved,  GOD  assisting,  to  see  Hie 
PEQUOTS,  and  to  Fight  with  them  before  we  returned ,  though  we  perished. 
I  then  enquired  of  ONKOS,  what  he  thought  tlie  Indians  would  do? 
Who  said,  The  NARRAGANSETTS  would  all  leave  us,  but  as  for  HIMSELF 


JOHN  MASON  51 


He  would  never  have  us:  and  so  it  proved:  For  which  Expressions 
and  some  other  Speeches  of  his,  I  shall  never  forget  him.  Indeed  he 
was  a  great  Friend,  and  did  great  Service. 

And  after  we  had  refreshed  our  selves  with  our  mean  Commons, 
we  Marched  about  three  Miles,  and  came  to  a  Field  which  had  lately 
been  planted  with  Indian  Corn:  There  we  made  another  Alt,  and 
called  our  Council,  supposing  we  drew  near  to  the  Enemy:  And 
being  informed  by  the  Indians  that  the  Enemy  had  two  Forts  almost 
impregnable;  but  we  were  not  at  all  Discouraged,  but  rather  Ani- 
mated, in  so  much  that  we  were  resolved  to  Assault  both  their  Forts 
at  once.  But  understanding  that  one  of  them  was  so  remote  that  we 
could  not  come  up  with  it  before  Midnight,  though  we  Marched  hard; 
whereat  we  were  much  grieved,  chiefly  because  the  greatest  and 
bloodiest  Sachem  there  resided,  whose  Name  was  SASSACOUS:  We 
were  then  constrained,  being  exceedingly  spent  hi  our  March  with 
extream  Heat  and  want  of  Necessaries,  to  accept  of  the  nearest. 

We  then  Marching  on  in  a  silent  Manner,  the  Indians  that 
remained  fell  all  into  the  Rear,  who  formerly  kept  the  Van;  (being 
possessed  with  great  Fear)  we  continued  our  March  till  about  one 
Hour  in  the  Night:  and  coming  to  a  little  Swamp  between  two  Hills, 
there  we  pitched  our  litttle  Camp;  much  wearied  with  hard  Travel, 
keeping  great  Silence,  supposing  we  were  very  near  the  Fort  as  our 
Indians  informed  us;  which  proved  otherwise:  The  Rocks  were  our 
Pillows;  yet  Rest  was  pleasant :  The  Night  proved  Comfortable,  being 
clear  and  Moon  Light:  We  appointed  our  Guards  and  placed  our 
Sentinels  at  some  distance;  who  heard  the  Enemy  Singing  at  the 
Fort,  who  continued  that  Strain  until  Midnight,  with  great  Insulting 
and  Rejoycing,  as  we  were  afterwards  informed:  They  seeing  our 
Pinnaces  sail  by  them  some  Days  before,  concluded  we  were  affraid 
of  them  and  durst  not  come  near  them;  the  Burthen  of  their  Song 
tending  to  that  purpose. 

In  the  Morning,  we  awaking  and  seeing  it  very  light,  supposing 
it  had  been  day,  and  so  we  might  have  lost  our  Opportunity,  having 
purposed  to  make  our  Assault  before  Day;  rowsed  the  Men  with  all 
expedition,  and  briefly  commended  ourselves  and  Design  to  GOD, 
thinking  immediately  to  go  to  the  Assault;  the  Indians  shewing  us 
a  Path,  told  us  that  it  led  directly  to  the  Fort.  We  held  on  our  March 
about  two  Miles,  wondering  that  we  came  not  to'the  Fort,  and  fearing 


52  AMERICAN  PROSE 


we  might  be  deluded:  But  seeing  Corn  newly  planted  at  the  Foot  of 
a  great  Hill,  supposing  the  Fort  was  not  far  off,  a  Champion  Country 
being  round  about  us;  then  making  a  stand,  gave  the  Word  for  some 
of  the  Indians  to  come  up:  At  length  ONKOS  and  one  WEQUOSH  ap- 
peared :  We  demanded  of  them,  Where  was  the  Fort  ?  They  answered, 
On  the  Top  of  that  Hill:  Then  we  demanded,  Where  were  the  Rest  of 
the  Indians?  They  answered,  Behind,  exceedingly  afraid:  We 
wished  them  to  tell  the  rest  of  their  Fellows,  That  they  should  by  no 
means  Fly,  but  stand  at  what  distance  they  pleased,  and  see  whether 
ENGLISH  MEN  would  now  Fight  or  not.  Then  Captain  Underhill  came 
up,  who  Marched  in  the  Rear;  and  commending  our  selves  to  GOD 
divided  our  Men:  There  being  two  Entrances  into  the  Fort,  intending 
to  enter  both  at  once :  Captain  Mason  leading  up  to  that  on  the  North 
East  Side;  who  approaching  within  one  Rod,  heard  a  Dog  bark  and 
an  Indian  crying  Owanuxl  Owanux!  which  is  Englishmen!  English- 
men! We  called  up  our  Forces  with  all  expedition,  gave  Fire  upon 
them  through  the  Pallizado;  the  Indians  being  in  a  dead  indeed  their 
last  Sleep:  Then  we  wheeling  off  fell  upon  the  main  Entrance,  which 
was  blocked  up  with  Bushes  about  Breast  high,  over  which  the  Cap- 
tain passed,  intending  to  make  good  the  Entrance,  encouraging  the 
rest  to  follow.  Lieutenant  Seeley  endeavo'ured  to  enter;  but  being 
somewhat  cumbred,  stepped  back  and  pulled  out  the  Bushes  and 
so  entred,  and  with  him  about  sixteen  Men:  We  had  formerly  con- 
cluded to  destroy  them  by  the  Sword  and  save  the  Plunder. 

Whereupon  Captain  Mason  seeing  no  Indians,  entred  a  Wigwam; 
where  he  was  beset  with  many  Indians,  waiting  all  opportunities  to 
lay  Hands  on  him,  but  could  not  prevail.  At  length  William  Heydon 
espying  the  Breach  in  the  Wigwam,  supposing  some  English  might 
be  there,  entred;  but  in  his  Entrance  fell  over  a  dead  Indian;  but 
speedily  recovering  himself,  the  Indians  some  fled,  others  crept  under 
their  Beds:  The  Captain  going  out  of  the  Wigwam  saw  many  Indians 
in  the  Lane  or  Street;  he  making  towards  them,  they  fled,  were  pur- 
sued to  the  End  of  the  Lane,  where  they  were  met  by  Edward  Pattison, 
Thomas  Barber,  with  some  others;  where  seven  of  them  were  Slain, 
as  they  said.  The  Captain  facing  about,  Marched  a  slow  Pace  up 
the  Lane  he  came  down,  perceiving  himself  very  much  out  of 
Breath;  and  coming  to  the  other  End  near  the  Place  where  he  first 
entred,  saw  two  Soldiers  standing  close  to  the  Pallizado  with  their 


JOHN  MASON  53 


Swords  pointed  to  the  Ground:  The  Captain  told  them  that  We 
should  never  kill  them  after  that  manner:  The  Captain  also  said,  WE 
MUST  BURN  THEM;  and  immediately  stepping  into  the  Wigwam 
where  he  had  been  before,  brought  out  a  Fire-Brand,  and  putting 
it  into  the  Matts  with  which  they  were  covered,  set  the  Wigwams 
on  Fire.  Lieutenant  Thomas  Bull  and  Nicholas  Omsted  beholding, 
came  up;  and  when  it  was  throughly  kindled,  the  Indians  ran  as 
Men  most  dreadfully  Amazed. 

And  indeed  such  a  dreadful  Terror  did  the  ALMIGHTY  let  fall 
upon  their  Spirits,  that  they  would  fly  from  us  and  run  into  the  very 
Flames,  where  many  of  them  perished.  And  when  the  Fort  was 
throughly  Fired,  Command  was  given,  that  all  should  fall  off  and 
surround  the  Fort]  which  was  readily  attended  by  all;  only  one 
Arthur  Smith  being  so  wounded  that  he  could  not  move  out  of  the 
Place,  who  was  happily  espied  by  Lieutenant  Bull,  and  by'him  rescued. 

The  Fire  was  kindled  on  the  North  East  Side  to  windward; 
which  did  swiftly  overrun  the  Fort,  to  the  extream  Amazement  of  the 
Enemy,  and  great  Rejoycing  of  our  selves.  Some  of  them  climbing 
to  the  Top  of  the  Palizado;  others  of  them  running  into  the  very 
Flames;  many  of  them  gathering  to  windward,  lay  pelting  at  us  with 
their  Arrows;  and  we  repayed  them  with  our  small  Shot:  Others  of 
the  Stoutest  issued  forth,  as  we  did  guess,  to  the  Number  of  Forty, 
who  perished  by  the  Sword. 

What  I  have  formerly  said,  is  according  to  my  own  Knowlege, ' 
there  being  sufficient  living  Testimony  to  every  Particular. 

But  hi  reference  to  Captain  Underhill  and  his  Parties  acting  in 
this  Assault,  I  can  only  intimate  as  we  were  informed  by  some  of  them- 
selves immediately  after  the  Fight.  Thus  They  Marching  up  to  the 
Entrance  on  the  South  West  Side,  there  made  some  Pause;  a  valiant, 
resolute  Gentleman,  one  Mr.  HEDGE,  stepping  towards  the  Gate, 
saying,  //  we  may  not  Enter,  wherefore  came  we  hear;  and  immedi- 
ately endeavoured  to  Enter;  but  was  opposed  by  a  sturdy  Indian 
which  did  impede  his  Entrance:  but  the  Indian  being  slain  by  him- 
self and  Serjeant  Davis,  Mr.  Hedge  Entred  the  Fort  with  some  others; 
but  the  Fort  being  on  Fire,  the  Smoak  and  Flames  were  so  violent 
that  they  were  constrained  to  desert  the  Fort. 

Thus  were  they  now  at  their  Wits  End,  who  not  many  Hours  before 
exalted  themselves  hi  their  great  Pride,  threatning  and  resolving  the 


54  AMERICAN  PROSE 


utter  Ruin  and  Destruction  of  all  the  English,  Exulting  and  Rejoycing 
with  Songs  and  Dances:  But  GOD  was  above  them,  who  laughed  his 
Enemies  and  the  Enemies  of  his  People  to  Scorn,  making  them  as 
a  fiery  Oven:  Thus  were  the  Stout  Hearted  spoiled,  having  slept 
their  last  Sleep,  and  none  of  their  Men  could  find  their  Hands:  Thus 
did  the  LORD  judge  among  the  Heathen,  filling  the  Place  with  dead 
Bodies! 

MARY  ROWLANDSON 

FROM 

A  NARRATIVE  OF  THE  CAPTIVITY 

On  the  tenth  of  February  1675,  Came  the  Indians  with  great 
numbers  upon  Lancaster:  Their  first  coming  was  about  Sunrising; 
hearing  the  noise  of  some  Guns,  we  looked  out;  several  Houses  were 
burning,  and  the  Smoke  ascending  to  Heaven.  There  were  five 
persons  taken  in  one  house,  the  Father,  and  the  Mother  and  a  sucking 
Child  they  knockt  on  the  head;  the  other  two  they  took  and  carried 
away  alive.  Their  were  two  others,  who  being  out  of  their  Garison 
upon  some  occasion,  were  set  upon;  one  was  knockt  on  the  head,  the 
other  escaped:  Another  their  was  who  running  along  was  shot  and 
wounded,  and  fell  down;  he  begged  of  them  his  life,  promising  them 
Money  (as  they  told  me)  but  they  would  not  hearken  to  him  but 
knockt  him  in  head,  and  stript  him  naked,  and  split  open  his  Bowels. 
Another  seeing  many  of  the  Indians  about  his  Barn,  ventured  and 
went  out,  but  was  quickly  shot  down.  There  were  three  others 
belonging  to  the  same  Garison  who  were  killed;  the  Indians  getting 
up  upon  the  roof  of  the  Barn,  had  advantage  to  shoot  down  upon 
them  over  their  Fortification.  Thus  these  murtherous  wretches  went 
on,  burning,  and  destroying  before  them. 

At  length  they  came  and  beset  our  own  house,  and  quickly  it 
was  the  dolefullest  day  that  ever  mine  eyes  saw.  The  House  stood 
upon  the  edg  of  a  hill;  some  of  the  Indians  got  behind  the  hill,  others 
into  the  Barn,  and  others  behind  any  thing  that  could  shelter  them; 
from  all  which  places  they  shot  against  the  House,  so  that  the  Bullets 
seemed  to  fly  like  hail;  and  quickly  they  wounded  one  man  among 
us,  then  another,  and  then  a  third.  About  two  hours  (according  to 
my  observation,  in  that  amazing  time)  they  had  been  about  the 
house  before  they  prevailed  to  fire  it  (which  they  did  with  Flax  and 


MARY  ROWLANDSON  55 

Hemp,  which  they  brought  out  of  the  Barn,  and  there  being  no  defence 
about  the  House,  only  two  Flankers  at  two  opposite  corners  and  one 
of  them  not  finished) ;  they  fired  it  once  and  one  ventured  out  and 
quenched  it,  but  they  quickly  fired  it  again,  and  that  took.  Now 
is  the  dreadfull  hour  come,  that  I  have  often  heard  of  (in  tune  of  War, 
as  it  was  the  case  of  others)  but  now  mine  eyes  see  it.  Some  in  our 
house  were  fighting  for  then-  lives,  others  wallowing  hi  their  blood, 
the  House  on  fire  over  our  heads,  and  the  bloody  Heathen  ready  to 
knock  us  on  the  head,  if  we  stired  out.  Now  might  we  hear 
Mothers  &  Children  crying  out  for  themselves,  and  one  another, 
Lord,  What  shall  we  do?  Then  I  took  my  Children  (and  one  of  my 
sisters,  hers)  to  go  forth  and  leave  the  house:  but  as  soon  as  we  came 
to  the  dore  and  appeared,  the  Indians  shot  so  thick  that  the  bulletts 
rattled  against  the  House,  as  if  one  had  taken  an  handfull  of  stones 
and  threw  them,  so  that  we  were  fain  to  give  back.  We  had  six  stout 
Dogs  belonging  to  our  Garrison,  but  none  of  them  would  stir,  though 
another  tune,  if  any  Indian  had  come  to  the  door,  they  were  ready 
to  fly  upon  him  and  tear  him  down.  The  Lord  hereby  would  make 
us  the  more  to  acknowledge  his  hand,  and  to  see  that  our  help  is 
alwayes  in  him.  But  out  we  must  go,  the  fire  increasing,  and  coming 
along  behind  us,  roaring,  and  the  Indians  gaping  before  us  with  their 
Guns,  Spears  and  Hatchets  to  devour  us.  No  sooner  were  we  out 
of  the  House,  but  my  Brother  in  Law  (being  before  wounded,  in 
defending  the  house,  hi  or  near  the  throat)  fell  down  dead,  whereat 
the  Indians  scornfully  shouted,  and  hallowed,  and  were  presently 
upon  him,  stripping  off  his  cloaths;  the  bulletts  flying  thick,  one 
went  through  my  side,  and  the  same  (as  would  seem)  through  the 
bowels  and  hand  of  my  dear  Child  in  my  arms.  One  of  my  elder 
Sisters  Children,  named  William,  had  then  his  Leg  broken,  which  the 
Indians  perceiving,  they  knockt  him  on  head.  Thus  were  we 
butchered  by  those  merciless  Heathen,  standing  amazed,  with  the 
blood  running  down  to  our  heels.  My  eldest  Sister  being  yet  in  the 
House,  and  seeing  those  wofull  sights,  the  Infidels  haling  Mothers 
one  way,  and  Children  another,  and  some  wallowing  hi  their  blood; 
and  her  elder  Son  telling  her  that  her  Son  William  was  dead,  and  my 
self  was  wounded,  she  said,  And,  Lord  let  me  dy  with  them;  which  was 
no  sooner  said,  but  she  was  struck  with  a  Bullet,  and  fell  down  dead 
over  the  threshold.  I  hope  she  is  reaping  the  fruit  of  her  good 
labours,  being  faithfull  to  the  service  of  God  in  her  place.  In  her 


56  AMERICAN  PROSE 


younger  years  she  lay  under  much  trouble  upon  spiritual  accounts, 
till  it  pleased  God  to  make  that  precious  Scripture  take  hold  of  her 
heart,  2  Cor.  12.9.  And  he  said  unto  me  my  Grace  is  sufficient  for  thee. 
More  then  twenty  years  after  I  have  heard  her  tell  how  sweet  and  com- 
fortable that  place  was  to  her.  But  to  return:  The  Indians  laid 
hold  of  me,  pulling  me  on[e]  way,  and  the  Children  another,  and  said, 
Come  go  along  with  us;  I  told  them  they  would  kill  me:  they  answered, 
If  I  were  willing  to  go  along  with  them,  they  would  not  hurt  me. 

Oh  the  dolefull  sight  that  now  was  to  behold  at  this  House! 
Come,  behold  the  works  of  the  Lord,  what  dissolations  he  has  made  in 
the  Earth.  Of  thirty  seven  persons  who  were  in  this  one  House,  none 
escaped  either  present  death,  or  a  bitter  captivity,  save  only  one, 
who  might  say  as  he,  Job.  i.  15.  And  I  only  am  escaped  alone  to 
tell  the  News.  There  were  twelve  killed,  some  shot,  some  stab'd  with 
their  Spears,  some  knock'd  down  with  their  Hatchets.  When  we 
are  in  prosperity,  Oh  the  little  that  we  think  of  such  dreadfull  sights, 
and  to  see  our  dear  Friends,  and  Relations  ly  bleeding  out  their 
heart-blood  upon  the  ground.  There  was  one  .who  was  chopt  into 
the  head  with  a  Hatchet,  and  stript  naked,  and  yet  was  crawling  up 
and  down.  It  is  a  solemn  sight  to  see  so  many  Christians  lying  in 
their  blood,  some  here,  and  some  there,  like  a  company  of  Sheep  torn 
by  Wolves.  All  of  them  stript  naked  by  a  company  of  hell-hounds, 
roaring,  singing,  ranting  and  insulting,  as  if  they  would  have  torn  our 
very  hearts  out;  yet  the  Lord  by  his  Almighty  power  preserved  a 
number  of  us  from  death,  for  there  were  twenty-four  of  us  taken  alive 
and  carried  Captive. 

/  had  often  before  this  said,  that  if  the  Indians  should  come,  I  should 
chuse  rather  to  be  killed  by  them  then  taken  alive  but  when  it  came  to 
the  tryal  my  mind  changed;  their  glittering  weapons  so  daunted 
my  spirit,  that  I  chose  rather  to  go  along  with  those  (as  I  may  say) 
ravenous  Bears,  then  that  moment  to  end  my  dayes;  and  that  I  may 
the  better  declare  what  happened  to  me  during  that  grievous  Cap- 
tivity I  shall  particularly  speak  of  the  severall  Removes  we  had  up 
and  down  the  Wilderness. 

The  first  Remove 

Now  away  we  must  go  with  those  Barbarous  Creatures,  with 
our  bodies  wounded  and  bleeding,  and  our  hearts  no  less  than  our 


MARY  ROWLANDSON  57 

bodies.  About  a  mile  we  went  that  night,  up  upon  a  hill  within 
sight  of  the  Town  where  they  intended  to  lodge.  There  was  hard 
by  a  vacant  house  (deserted  by  the  English  before,  for  fear  of  the 
Indians') ;  I  asked  them  whither  I  might  not  lodge  in  the  house  that 
night  to  which  they  answered,  What,  will  you  love  English  men  still  ? 
This  was  the  dolefullest  night  that  ever  my  eyes  saw.  Oh  the  roar- 
ing, and  singing  and  danceing,  and  yelling  of  those  black  creatures 
in  the  night,  which  made  the  place  a  lively  resemblance  of  hell.  And 
as  miserable  was  the  wast  that  was  there  made,  of  Horses,  Cattle, 
Sheep,  Swine,  Calves,  Lambs,  Roasting  Pigs,  and  Fowl  [which  they  had 
plundered  in  the  Town]  some  roasting,  some  lying  and  burning,  and 
some  boyling  to  feed  our  merciless  Enemies;  who  were  joyful  enough 
though  we  were  disconsolate.  To  add  to  the  dolefulness  of  the 
former  day,  and  the  dismalness  of  the  present  night:  my  thoughts 
ran  up  on  my  losses  and  sad  bereaved  condicion.  All  was  gone,  my 
Husband  gone  (at  least  separated  from  me,  he  being  in  the  Bay; 
and  to  add  to  my  grief,  the  Indians  told  me  they  would  kill  him  as 
he  came  homeward),  my  Children  gone,  my  Relations  and  Friends 
gone,  our  House  and  home  and  all  our  comforts  within  door,  and 
without,  all  was  gone  (except  my  life)  and  I  knew  not  but  the  next 
moment  that  might  go  too.  There  remained  nothing  to  me  but  one 
poor  wounded  Babe,  and  it  seemed  at  present  worse  than  death  that 
it  was  in  such  a  pitiful  condition,  bespeaking  Compassion,  and  I  had 
no  refreshing  for  it,  nor  suitable  things  to  revive  it.  Little  do  many 
think  what  is  the  savageness  and  bruitishness  of  this  barbarous 
Enemy;  even  those  that  seem  to  profess  more  than  others  among 
them,  when  the  English  have  fallen  into  then:  hands. 

Those  seven  that  were  killed  at  Lancaster  the  summer  before 
upon  a  Sabbath  day,  and  the  one  that  was  afterward  killed  upon  a 
week  day,  were  slain  and  mangled  in  a  barbarous  manner,  by  one- 
ey'd  John,  and  Marlborough's  Praying  Indians,  which  Capt.  Mostly 
brought  to  Boston,  as  the  Indians  told  me. 

The  second  Remove 

But  now,  the  next  morning,  I  must  turn  my  back  upon  the  Town, 
and  travel  with  them  into  the  vast  and  desolate  Wilderness,  I  knew  not 
whither.  It  is  not  my  tongue,  or  pen  can  express  the  sorrows  of  my 
heart,  and  bitterness  of  my  spirit,  that  I  had  at  this  departure:  but 


58  AMERICAN  PROSE 


God  was  with  me,  in  a  wonderful!  manner,  carrying  me  along,  and 
bearing  up  my  spirit,  that  it  did  not  quite  fail.  One  of  the  Indians 
carried  my  poor  wounded  Babe  upon  a  horse;  it  went  moaning  all 
along,  I  shall  dy,  I  shall  dy.  I  went  on  foot  after  it,  with  sorrow  that 
cannot  be  exprest.  At  length  I  took  it  off  the  horse,  and  carried  it 
in  my  armes  till  my  strength  failed,  and  I  fell  down  with  it:  Then 
they  set  me  upon  a  horse  with  my  wounded  Child  in  my  lap;  and 
there  being  no  furnituure  upon  the  horse  back,  as  we  were  going 
down  a  steep  hill,  we  both  fell  over  the  horses  head,  at  which  they 
like  inhumane  creatures  laught,  and  rejoyced  to  see  it,  though  I 
thought  we  should  there  have  ended  our  dayes,  as  overcome  with  so 
many  difficulties.  But  the  Lord  renewed  my  strength  still,  and 
carried  me  along,  that  I  might  see  more  of  his  Power;  yea,  so  much 
that  I  could  never  have  thought  of,  had  I  not  experienced  it. 

After  this  it  quickly  began  to  snow,  and  when  night  came  on,  they 
stopt:  and  now  down  I  must  sit  in  the  snow,  by  a  little  fire,  and  a  few 
boughs  behind  me,  with  my  sick  Child  in  my  lap;  and  calling  much  for 
water,  being  now  (through  the  wound)  fallen  into  a  violent  Fever.  My 
own  wound  also  growing  so  stiff,  that  I  could  scarce  sit  down  or  rise 
up;  yet  so  it  must  be,  that  I  must  sit  all  this  cold  winter  night  upon 
the  cold  snowy  ground,  with  my  sick  Child  in  my  armes,  looking 
that  every  hour  would  be  the  last  of  its  life;  and  having  no  Christian 
friend  near  me,  either  to  comfort  or  help  me.  Oh,  I  may  see  the 
wonderfull  power  of  God,  that  my  Spirit  did  not  utterly  sink  under  my 
affliction:  still  the  Lord  upheld  me  with  his  gracious  and  mercifull  Spirit, 
and  we  were  both  alive  to  see  the  light  of  the  next  morning. 

The  twelfth  Remove 

It  was  upon  a  Sabbath-day-morning,  that  they  prepared  for  their 
Travel.  This  morning  I  asked  my  master  whither  he  would  sell  me 
to  my  Husband;  he  answered  me  Nux,  which  did  much  rejoyce  my 
spirit.  My  mistriss,  before  we  went,  was  gone  to  the  burial  of  a 
Papoos,  and  returning,  she  found  me  sitting  and  reading  in  my  Bible; 
she  snatched  it  hastily  out  of  my  hand,  and  threw  it  out  of  doors; 
I  ran  out  and  catcht  it  up,  and  put  it  into  my  pocket,  and  never  let 
her  see  it  afterward.  Then  they  pack'd  up  their  things  to  be  gone, 
and  gave  me  my  load:  I  complained  it  was  too  heavy  whereupon  she 


MARY  ROWLANDSON  59 

gave  me  a  slap  in  the  face,  and  bade  me  go;  I  lifted  up  my  heart  to 
God,  hoping  the  Redemption  was  not  far  off:  and  the  rather  because 
their  insolency  grew  worse  and  worse. 

But  the  thoughts  of  my  going  homeward  (for  so  we  bent  our  course) 
much  cheared  my  Spirit,  and  made  my  burden  seem  light,  and  almost 
nothing  at  all.  But  (to  my  amazment  and  great  perplexity)  the  scale 
was  soon  turned:  for  when  we  had  gone  a  little  way,  on  a  sudden 
my  mistriss  gives  out,  she  would  go  no  further,  but  turn  back  again, 
and  said  I  must  go  back  again  with  her,  and  she  called  her  Sannup, 
and  would  have  had  him  gone  back  also,  but  he  would  not,  but  said, 
He  would  go  on,  and  come  to  us  again  in  three  dayes.  My  Spirit  was 
upon  this,  I  confess,  very  impatient,  and  almost  outragious. '  I 
thought  I  could  as  well  have  dyed  as  went  back:  I  cannot  declare 
the  trouble  that  I  was  in  about  it;  but  yet  back  again  I  must  go. 
As  soon  as  I  had  an  opportunity,  I  took  my  Bible  to  read,  and  that 
quieting  Scripture  came  to  my  hand,  Psal.  46.10.  Be  still,  and  know 
that  I  am  God.  Which  stilled  my  spirit  for  the  present:  But  a  sore 
time  of  tryal,  I  concluded,  I  had  to  go  through.  My  master  being 
gone,  who  seemed  to  me  the  best  friend  that  I  had  of  an  Indian,  both 
in  cold  and  hunger,  and  quickly  so  it  proved.  Down  I  sat,  with  my 
heart  as  full  as  it  could  hold,  and  yet  so  hungry  that  I  could  not  sit 
neither:  but  going  out  to  see  what  I  could  find,  and  walking  among 
the  Trees,  I  found  six  Acrons,  and  two  Ches-nuts,  which  were  some 
refreshment  to  me.  Towards  Night  I  gathered  me  some  sticks  for 
my  own  comfort,  that  I  might  not  ly  a-cold:  but  when  we  came  to  ly 
down  they  bade  me  go  out,  and  ly  some-where-else,  for  they  had 
company  (they  said)  come  in  more  than  their  own:  I  told  them,  I 
could  not  tell  where  to  go,  they  bade  me  go  look;  I  told  them,  if  I 
went  to  another  Wigwam  they  would  be  angry,  and  send  me  home 
again.  Then  one  of  the  Company  drew  his  sword,  and  told  me  he 
would  run  me  thorough  if  I  did  not  go  presently.  Then  was  I  fain 
to  stoop  to  this  rude  fellow,  and  to  go  out  in  the  night,  I  knew  not 
whither.  Mine  eyes  have  seen  that  fellow  afterwards  walking  up  and 
down  Boston,  under  the  appearance  of  a  Friend-Indian,  and  sever  all 
others  of  the  like  Cut.  I  went  to  one  Wigwam,  and  they  told  me  they 
had  no  room.  Then  I  went  to  another,  and  they  said  the  same;  at 
last  an  old  Indian  bade  me  come  to  him,  and  his  Squaw  gave  me  some 
Ground-nuts;  she  gave  me  also  something  to  lay  under  my  head, 


60  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  a  good  fire  we  had:  and  through  the  good  providence  of  God, 
I  had  a  comfortable  lodging  that  night.  In  the  morning,  another 
Indian  bade  me  come  at  night,  and  he  would  give  me  six  Ground  nuts, 
which  I  did.  We  were  at  this  place  and  time  about  two  miles  from 
Connecticut  River.  We  went  in  the  morning  to  gather  Ground-nuts, 
to  the  River,  and  went  back  again  that  night.  I  went  with  a  good 
load  at  my  back  (for  they  when  they  went,  though  but  a  little  way, 
would  carry  all  their  trumpery  with  them);  I  told  them  the  skin 
was  off  my  back,  but  I  had  no  other  comforting  answer  from  them 
than  this,  That  it  would  be  no  matter  if  my  head  were  of  too. 

The  ninteenth  Remove 

They  said,  when  we  went  out,  that  we  must  travel  to  Wachuset  this 
day.  But  a  bitter  weary  day  I  had  of  it,  travelling  now  three  dayes 
together,  without  resting  any  day  between.  At  last,  after  many 
weary  steps,  I  saw  Wachuset  hills,  but  many  miles  off.  Then  we 
came  to  a  great  Swamp,  through  which  we  travelled  up  to  the  knees, 
in  mud  and  water,  which  was  heavy  going  to  one  tyred  before.  Being 
almost  spent,  I  thought  I  should  have  sunk  down  at  last,  and  never 
gat  out;  but  I  may  say,  as  in  Psal.g^.  18.  When  my  foot  slipped,  thy 
mercy,  0  Lord  held  me  up.  Going  along,  having  indeed  my  life,  but 
little  spirit,  Philip,  who  was  in  the  Company,  came  up  and  took  me 
by  the  hand,  and  said,  Two  weeks  more  and  you  shal  be  Mistress  again. 
I  asked  him,  if  he  spake  true  ?  he  answered,  Yes,  and  quickly  you  shal 
come  to  your  master  again;  who  had  been  gone  from  us  three  weeks. 
After  many  weary  steps  we  came  to  Wachuset,  where  he  was:  and 
glad  I  was  to  see  him.  He  asked  me,  When  I  washt  me?  I  told 
him  not  this  month,  then  he  fetcht  me  some  water  himself,  and  bid 
me  wash,  and  gave  me  the  Glass  to  see  how  I  lookt;  and  bid  his 
Squaw  give  me  something  to  eat :  so  she  gave  me  a  mess  of  Beans  and 
meat,  and  a  little  Ground-nut  Cake.  I  was  wonderfully  revived 
with  this  favour  shewed  me,  Psal.  106.46.  He  made  them  also  to  be 
pittied,  of  all  those  that  carried  them  Captives. 

My  master  had  three  Squaws,  living  sometimes  with  one,  and  some- 
times with  another  one,  this  old  Squaw,  at  whose  Wigwan  /  was,  and 
with  whom  my  Master  had  been  those  three  weeks.  Another  was 
Wettimore,  with  whom  I  had  lived  and  served  all  this  while :  A  severe 


MARY  ROWLANDSON  6l 

and  proud  Dame  she  was;  bestowing  every  day  in  dressing  her  self 
neat  as  much  time  as  any  of  the  Gentry  of  the  land :  powdering  her 
hair,  and  painting  her  face,  going  with  Neck-laces,  with  Jewels  in 
her  ears,  and  Bracelets  upon  her  hands:  When  she  had  dressed  her 
self,  her  work  was  to  make  Girdles  of  Wampom  and  Beads.  The 
third  Squaw  was  a  younger  one,  by  whom  he  had  two  Papooses. 
By  that  time  I  was  refresht  by  the  old  Squaw,  with  whom  my  master 
was,  Wettimores  Maid  came  to  call  me  home,  at  which  I  fell  a  weeping. 
Then  the  old  Squaw  told  me,  to  encourage  me,  that  if  I  wanted 
victuals,  I  should  come  to  her,  and  that  I  should  ly  there  in  her 
Wigwam.  Then  I  went  with  the  maid,  and  quickly  came  again  and 
lodged  there.  The  Squaw  laid  a  Mat  under  me,  and  a  good  Rugg 
over  me;  the  first  time  I  had  any  such  kindness  shewed  me.  I  under- 
stood that  Wettimore  thought,  that  if  she  should  let  me  go  and  serve 
with  the  old  Squaw,  she  would  be  in  danger  to  loose,  not  only  my 
service,  but  the  redemption-pay  also.  And  I  was  not  a  little  glad 
to  hear  this;  being  by  it  raised  in  my  hopes,  that  in  Gods  due  time 
there  would  be  an  end  of  this  sorrowfull  hour.  Then  came  an  Indian, 
and  asked  me  to  knit  him  three  pair  of  Stockins,  for  which  I  had  a 
Hat,  and  a  silk  Handkerchief.  Then  another  asked  me  to  mak  her 
a  shift,  for  which  she  gave  me  an  Apron 

I  may  well  say  as  his  Psal.  107.12  Oh  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord 
for  he  is  good,  for  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever.  Let  the  Redeemed  of 
the  Lord  say  so,  whom  he  hath  redeemed  from  the  hand  of  the  Enemy, 
especially  that  I  should  come  away  in  the  midst  of  so  many  hundreds 
of  Enemies  quietly  and  peacably,  and  not  a  Dog  moving  his  tongue. 
So  I  took  my  leave  of  them,  and  in  coming  along  my  heart  melted 
into  tears,  more  then  all  the  while  I  was  with  them,  and  I  was  almost 
swallowed  up  with  the  thoughts  that  ever  I  should  go  home  again. 
About  the  Sun  going  down,  Mr.  Hoar,  and  my  self,  and  the  two 
Indians  came  to  Lancaster,  and  a  solemn  sight  it  was  to  me.  There 
had  I  lived  many  comfortable  years  amongst  my  Relations  and 
Neighbours,  and  now  not  one  Christian  to  be  seen,  nor  one  house  left 
standing.  We  went  on  to  a  Farm  house  that  was  yet  standing,  where 
we  lay  all  night:  and  a  comfortable  lodging  we  had,  though  nothing 
but  straw  to  ly  on.  The  Lord  preserved  us  in  safety  that  night,  and 
raised  us  up  again  in  the  morning,  and  carried  us  along,  that  before 


62  AMERICAN  PROSE 


noon,  we  came  to  Concord.  Now  was  I  full  of  joy,  and  yet  not  with- 
out sorrow :  joy  to  see  such  a  lovely  sight,  so  many  Christians  together, 
and  some  of  them  my  Neighbours:  There  I  met  with  my  Brother, 
and  my  Brother  in  Law,  who  asked  me,  if  I  knew  where  his  Wife 
was  ?  Poor  heart!  he  had  helped  to  bury  her,  and  knew  it  not;  she 
being  shot  down  by  the  house  was  partly  burnt:  so  that  those  who 
were  at  Boston  at  the  desolation  of  the  Town,  and  came  back  after- 
ward, and  buried  the  dead,  did  not  know  her.  Yet  I  w[a]s  not  with- 
out sorrow,  to  think  how  many  were  looking  and  longing,  and  my 
own  Children  amongst  the  rest,  to  enjoy  that  deliverance  that  I  had 
now  received;  and  I  did  not  know  whither  ever  I  should  see  them 
again.  Being  recruited  with  food  and  raiment  we  went  to  Boston 
that  day,  where  I  met  with  my  dear  Husband,  but  the  thoughts  of 
our  dear  Children,  one  being  dead,  and  the  other  we  could  not  tell 

where,  abated  our  comfort  each  to  other 

Before  I  knew  what  affliction  meant,  I  was  ready  sometimes  to 
wish  for  it.  When  I  lived  in  prosperity ;  having  the  comforts  of  the 
World  about  me,  my  relations  by  me,  my  Heart  chearfull:  and  taking 
little  care  for  any  thing;  and  yet  seeing  many,  whom  I  preferred 
before  my  self,  under  many  tryals  and  afflictions,  in  sickness,  weak- 
ness, poverty,  losses,  crosses,  and  cares  of  the  World,  I  should  be 
sometimes  jealous  least  I  should  have  my  portion  in  this  life,  and  that 
Scripture  would  come  to  my  mind,  Heb.  12.6.  For  whom  the  Lord 
loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every  Son  whom  he  receiveth.  But 
now  I  see  the  Lord  had  his  time  to  scourge  and  chasten  me.  The 
portion  of  some  is  to  have  their  afflictions  by  drops,  now  one  drop  and 
then  another:  but  the  dregs  of  the  Cup,  the  Wine  of  astonishment, 
like  a  sweeping  rain  that  leaveth  no  food,  did  the  Lord  prepare  to  be 
my  portion.  Affliction  I  wanted,  and  affliction  I  had,  full  measure 
(I  thought)  pressed  down  and  running  over;  yet  I  see,  when  God 
calls  a  Persen  to  any  thing,  and  through  never  so  many  difficulties, 
yet  he  is  fully  able  to  carry  them  through  and  make  them  see,  and 
say  they  have  been  gainers  thereby.  And  I  hope  I  can  say  in  some 
measure,  As  David  did,  It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted. 
The  Lord  hath  shewed  me  the  vanity  of  these  outward  things. 
That  they  are  the  Vanity  of  vanities,  and  vexation  of  spirit ;  that  they 
are  but  a  shadow,  a  blast,  a  bubble,  and  things  of  no  continuance. 
That  we  must  rely  on  God  himself ,  and  our  whole  dependance  must 


INCREASE  MATHER  63 

be  upon  him.  If  trouble  from  smallar  matters  begin  to  arise  in  me, 
I  have  something  at  hand  to  check  my  self  with,  and  say,  why  am 
I  troubled  ?  It  was  but  the  other  day,  that  if  I  had  had  the  world, 
I  would  have  given  it  for  my  freedom,  or  to  have  been  a  Servant  to 
a  Christian.  I  have  learned  to  look  beyond  present  and  smaller 
troubles,  and  to  be  quieted  under  them,  as  Moses  said,  Exod.  14.  13. 
Stand  still  and  see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord. 


INCREASE  MATHER 

FROM 

AN  ESSAY  FOR  THE  RECORDING  OF  ILLUSTRIOUS 
PROVIDENCES 

A  BEWITCHED  HOUSE 

As  there  have  been  several  Persons  vexed  with  evil  Spirits,  so 
divers  Houses  have  been  wofully  Haunted  by  them.  In  the  Year 
1679,  the  House  of  William  Morse  in  Newberry  in  New-England,  was 
strangely  disquieted  by  a  Damon.  After  those  troubles  began,  he 
did  by  the  Advice  of  Friends  write  down  the  particulars  of  those 
unusual  Accidents.  And  the  Account  which  he  giveth  thereof  is 
as  followeth; 

On  December  3.  In  the  night  time,  he  and  his  Wife  heard  a 
noise  upon  the  roof  of  their  House,  as  if  Sticks  and  Stones  had  been 
thrown  against  it  with  great  violence;  whereupon  he  rose  out  of  his 
Bed  but  could  see  nothing.  Locking  the  Doors  fast,  he  returned  to 
Bed  again.  About  midnight  they  heard  an  Hog  making  a  great  noise 
in  the  House,  so  that  the  Man  rose  again,  and  found  a  great  Hog  in 
the  house,  the  door  being  shut,  but  upon  the  opening  of  the  door  it 
ran  out. 

On  December  8.  In  the  Morning,  there  were  five  great  Stones  and 
Bricks  by  an  invisible  hand  thrown  in  at  the  west  end  of  the  house 
while  the  Mans  Wife  was  making  the  Bed,  the  Bedstead  was  lifted 
up  from  the  floor,  and  the  Bedstaff  flung  out  of  the  Window,  and  a 
Cat  was  hurled  at  her;  a  long  Staff  danced  up  and  down  in  the  Chim- 
ney; a  burnt  Brick,  and  a  piece  of  a  weather-board  were  thrown  in 
at  the  Window:  The  Man  at  his  going  to  Bed  put  out  his  Lamp,  but 


64  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  the  Morning  found  that  the  Saveall  of  it  was  taken  away,  and  yet  it 
was  unaccountably  brought  into  its  former  place.  On  the  same  day, 
the  long  Staff  but  now  spoken  of,  was  hang'd  up  by  a  line,  and  swung 
to  and  fro,  the  Man's  Wife  laid  it  in  the  fire,  but  she  could  not  hold 
it  there,  inasmuch  as  it  would  forcibly  fly  out;  yet  after  much  ado 
with  joynt  strength  they  made  it  to  burn.  A  shingle  flew  from  the 
Window,  though  no  body  near  it,  many  sticks  came  in  at  the  same 
place,  only  one  of  these  was  so  scragged  that  it  could  enter  the  hole 
but  a  little  way,  whereupon  the  Man  pusht  it  out,  a  great  Rail  like- 
wise was  thrust  in  at  the  Window,  so  as  to  break  the  Glass. 

At  another  time  an  Iron  Crook  that  was  hanged  on  a  Nail, 
violently  flew  up  and  down,  also  a  Chair  flew  about,  and  at  last 
lighted  on  the  Table  where  Victuals  stood  ready  for  them  to  eat, 
and  was  likely  to  spoil  all,  only  by  a  nimble  catching  they  saved  some 
of  their  Meal  with  the  loss  of  the  rest,  and  the  overturning  of  their 
Table. 

People  were  sometimes  Barricade 'd  out  of  doors,  when  as  yet 
there  was  no  body  to  do  it:  and  a  Chest  was  removed  from  place  to 
place,  no  hand  touching  it.  Their  Keys  being  tied  together,  one 
was  taken  from  the  rest,  &  the  remaining  two  would  fly  about  making 
a  loud  noise  by  knocking  against  each  other.  But  the  greatest  part 
of  this  Devils  feats  were  his  mischievous  ones,  wherein  indeed  he  was 
sometimes  Antick  enough  too,  and  therein  the  chief  sufferers  were, 
the  Man  and  his  Wife,  and  his  Grand-Son.  The  Man  especially  had 
his  share  in  these  Diabolical  Molestations.  For  one  while  they  could 
not  eat  their  Suppers  quietly,  but  had  the  Ashes  on  the  Hearth  before 
their 'eyes  thrown  into  their  Victuals;  yea,  and  upon  their  heads  and 
Clothes,  insomuch  that  they  were  forced  up  into  their  Chamber,  and 
yet  they  had  no  rest  there;  for  one  of  the  Man's  Shoes  being  left 
below,  'twas  filled  with  Ashes  and  Coals,  and  thrown  up  after  them. 
Their  Light  was  beaten  out,  and  they  being  laid  in  their  Bed  with  their 
little  Boy  between  them,  a  great  stone  (from  the  Floor  of  the  Loft) 
weighing  above  three  pounds  was  thrown  upon  the  mans  stomach, 
and  he  turning  it  down  upon  the  floor,  it  was  once  more  thrown  upon 
him.  A  Box,  and  a  Board  were  likewise  thrown  upon  them  all. 
And  a  Bag  of  Hops  was  taken  out  of  their  Chest,  wherewith  they  were 
beaten,  till  some  of  the  Hops  were  scattered  on  the  floor,  where  the 
Bag  was  then  laid,  and  left. 


INCREASE  MATHER  65 

In  another  Evening,  when  they  sat  by  the  fire,  the  Ashes  were 
so  whirled  at  them,  that  they  could  neither  eat  their  Meat,  nor 
endure  the  House.  A  Peel  struck  the  Man  in  the  face.  An  Apron 
hanging  by  the  fire,  was  flung  upon  it,  and  singed  before  they 
could  snatch  it  off.  The  Man  being  at  Prayer  with  his  Family,  a 
Beesom  gave  him  a  blow  on  his  head  behind,  and  fell,  down  before 
his  face. 

On  another  day,  when  they  were  Winnowing  of  Barley,  some 
hard  dirt  was  thrown  in,  hitting  the  Man  on  the  Head,  and  both  the 
Man  and  his  Wife  on  the  back ;  and  when  they  had  made  themselves 
clean,  they  essayed  to  fill  their  half  Bushel  but  the  foul  Corn  was  in 
spite  of  them  often  cast  in  amongst  the  clean,  and  the  Man  being 
divers  times  thus  abused  was  forced  to  give  over  what  he  was 
about. 

On  January  23  (hi  particular)  the  Man  had  an  iron  Pin  twice 
thrown  at  him,  and  his  Inkhorn  was  taken  away  from  him  while  he 
was  writing,  and  when  by  all  his  seeking  it  he  could  not  find  it, 
at  last  he  saw  it  drop  out  of  the  Air,  down  by  the  fire:  a  piece  of 
Leather  was  twice  thrown  at  him;  and  a  shoe  was  laid  upon  his 
shoulder,  which  he  catching  at,  was  suddenly  rapt  from  him.  An 
handful  of  Ashes  was  thrown  at  his  face,  and  upon  his  clothes:  and 
the  shoe  was  then  clapt  upon  his  head,  and  upon  it  he  clapt  his  hand, 
holding  it  so  fast,  that  somewhat  unseen  pulled  him  with  it  backward 
on  the  floor. 

On  the  next  day  at  night,  as  they  were  going  to  Bed,  a  lost  Ladder 
was  thrown  against  the  Door,  and  their  Light  put  out;  and  when 
the  Man  was  a  bed,  he  was  beaten  with  an  heavy  pair  of  Leather 
Breeches,  and  pull'd  by  the  Hair  of  his  Head  and  Beard,  Pinched 
and  Scratched,  and  his  Bed-board  was  taken  away  from  him;  yet 
more  in  the  next  night,  when  the  Man  was  likewise  a  Bed,  his  Bed- 
board  did  rise  out  of  its  place,  notwithstanding  his  putting  forth  all 
his  strength  to  keep  it  in;  one  of  his  Awls  wa[s]  brought  out  of  the 
next  room  into  his  Bed,  and  did  prick  him;  the  clothes  wherewith  he 
hoped  to  save  his  head  from  blows  were  violently  pluckt  from  thence. 
Within  a  night  or  two  after,  the  Man  and  his  Wife  received  both  of 
them  a  blow  upon  their  heads,  but  it  was  so  dark  that  they  could  not 
see  the  stone  which  gave  it;  the  Man  had  his  Cap  pulled  off  from  his 
head  while  he  sat  by  the  fire. 


66  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  night  following,  they  went  to  bed  undressed,  because  of 
their  late  disturbances,  and  the  Man,  Wife,  Boy,  presently  felt  them- 
selves pricked,  and  upon  search  found  in  the  Bed  a  Bodkin,  a  knitting 
Needle,  and  two  sticks  picked  at  both  ends.  He  received  also  a  great 
blow,  as  on  his  Thigh,  so  on  his  Face,  which  fetched  blood:  and  while 
he  was  writing  a  Candlestick  was  twice  thrown  at  him,  and  a  great 
piece  of  Bark  fiercely  smote  him,  and  a  pail  of  Water  turned  up 
without  hands.  On  the  28  of  the  mentioned  Moneth,  frozen  clods 
of  Cow-dung  were  divers  times  thrown  at  the  man  out  of  the  house 
in  which  they  were;  his  Wife  went  to  milk  the  Cow,  and  received 
a  blow  on  her  head,  and  sitting  down  at  her  Milking-work  had  Cow- 
dung  divers  times  thrown  into  her  Pail,  the  Man  tried  to  save  the 
Milk,  by  holding  a  Piggin  side-wayes  under  the  Cowes  belly,  but 
the  Dung  would  in  for  all,  and  the  Milk  was  only  made  fit  for  Hogs. 
On  that  night  ashes  were  thrown  into  the  porridge  which  they  had 
made  ready  for  their  Supper,  so  as  that  they  could  not  eat  it;  Ashes 
were  likewise  often  thrown  into  the  Man's  Eyes,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire. 
And  an  iron  Hammer  flying  at  him,  gave  him  a  great  blow  on  his 
back;  the  Man's  Wife  going  into  the  Cellar  for  Beer,  a  great  iron 
Peel  flew  and  fell  after  her  through  the  trap-door  of  the  Cellar;  and 
going  afterwards  on  the  same  Errand  to  the  same  place,  the  door 
shut  down  upon  her,  and  the  Table  came  and  lay  upon  the  door,  and 
the  man  was  forced  to  remove  it  e're  his  Wife  could  be  released  from 
where  she  was;  on  the  following  day  while  he  was  Writing,  a  dish 
went  out  of  its  place,  leapt  into  the  pale,  and  cast  Water  upon  the 
Man,  his  Paper,  his  Table,  and  disappointed  his  procedure  in  what 
he  was  about;  his  Cap  jumpt  off  from  his  head,  and  on  again,  and 
the  Pot-lid  leapt  off  from  the  Pot  into  the  Kettle  on  the  fire. 

February  2.  While  he  and  his  Boy  were  eating  of  Cheese,  the 
pieces  which  he  cut  were  wrested  from  them,  but  they  were  after- 
wards found  upon  the  Table  under  an  Apron,  and  a  pair  of  Breeches: 
And  also  from  the  fire  arose  little  sticks  and  Ashes,  which  flying 
upon  the  Man  and  his  Boy,  brought  them  into  an  uncomfortable 
pickle 

All  this  while  the  Devil  did  not  use  to  appear  in  any  visible  shape, 
only  they  would  think  they  had  hold  of  the  Hand  that  sometimes 
scratched  them;  but  it  would  give  them  the  slip.  And  once  the 
Man  was  discernably  beaten  by  a  Fist,  and  an  Hand  got  hold  of  his 


INCREASE  MATHER  67 

Wrist  which  he  saw,  but  could  not  catch;  and  the  likeness  of  a 
Blackmore  Child  did  appear  from  under  the  Rugg  and  Blanket,  where 
the  Man  lay,  and  it  would  rise  up,  fall  down,  nod  &  slip  under  the 
clothes  when  they  endeavoured  to  clasp  it,  never  speaking  any  thing. 
Neither  were  there  many  Words  spoken  by  Satan  all  this  time, 
only  once  having  put  out  their  Light,  they  heard  a  scraping  on  the 
Boards,  and  then  a  Piping  and  Drumming  on  them,  which  was  fol- 
lowed with  a  Voice,  singing  Revenge!  Revenge!  Sweet  is  Revenge! 
And  they  being  well  terrified  with  it,  called  upon  God;  the  issue  of 
which  was,  that  suddenly  with  a  mournful  Note,  there  were  six  times 
over  uttered  such  expressions  as  Alas!  Alas!  me  knock  no  morel  me 
knock  no  morel  and  now  all  ceased. 

PROBATION  OF  WITCHES  BY  COLD   WATER 

There  is  another  Case  of  Conscience  which  may  here  be  enquired 
into,  viz.  Whether  it  be  lawful  to  bind  persons  suspected  for  Witches, 
and  so  cast  them  into  the  Water,  in  order  to  making  a  discovery  of  their 
innocency  or  guiltiness;  so  as  that  if  they  keep  above  the  Water,  they 
shall  be  deemed  as  confederate  with  the  Devil,  but  if  they  sink  they  are 
to  be  acquitted  from  the  crime  of  Witchcraft.  As  for  this  way  of  pur- 
gation it  cannot  be  denied  but  that  some  learned  men  have  indulged 
it.  King  JAMES  appro veth  of  it,  in  his  Discourse  of  Witch-craft 
B.  3.  Chap.  6.  supposing  that  the  water  refuseth  to  receive  Witches 
into  its  Bosom,  because  they  have  perfidiously  violated  their  Cove- 
nant with  God,  confirmed  by  Water  in  Baptism.  Kornmannus  and 
Scribonius  do  upon  the  same  ground  justifie  this  way  of  tryal.  But 
a  worthy  Casuist  of  our  own,  giveth  a  judicious  Reply  to  this  sup- 
posal,  viz.  that  all  Water  is  not  the  Water  of  Baptism,  but  that  only 
which  is  used  in  the  very  act  of  Baptism.  Moreover,  according  to 
this  notion  the  Proba  would  serve  only  for  such  persons  as  have  been 
Baptized.  Wierus  and  Bodinus  have  written  against  this  Experi- 
ment. So  hath  Hemmingius;  who  saith,  that  it  is  both  superstitious 
and  ridiculous.  Likewise,  that  Learned  Physitian  John  Heurnius 
has  published  a  Treatise,  which  he  calls,  Responsum  ad  supremam 
curiam  Hollandice,  nullum  esse  cequce  innatationemlamiarum  indicium. 
That  Book  I  have  not  seen,  but  I  find  it  mentioned  in  Meursius  his 
Athene^  Batava.  Amongst  Englisti  Authors,  Dr.  Cott  hath  endeav- 
oured to  shew  the  unlawfulness  of  using  such  a  practice.  Also 


68  4MER*CAN  PROSE 


Mr.  Perkins  is  so  far  from  approving  of  this  probation  by  cold  water, 
as  that  he  rather  inclines  to  think  that  the  persons  who  put  it  in 
practice  are  themselves  after  a  sort  practisers  of  Witch-craft.  That 
most  Learned,  Judicious,  and  Holy  Man,  Gisbertus  Voetius  in  his 
forementioned  Exercitation  de  Magia,  P.  573.  endeavours  to  evince 
that  the  custom  of  trying  Witches  by  casting  them  into  the  Water 
is  unlawful,  a  Tempting  of  God,  and  indirect  Magic,  And  that  it  is 
utterly  unlawful,  I  am  by  the  following  Reasons,  convinced: 

1.  This  practice  has  no  Foundation  in  nature,  nor  in  Scripture. 
If  the  Water  will  bear  none  but  Witches,  this  must  need  proceed 
either  from  some  natural  or  some  supernatural  cause.    No  natural 
cause  is  or  can  be  assigned  why  the  bodies  of  such  persons  should 
swim  rather  than  of  any  other.    The  Bodies  of  Witches  have  not 
lost  their  natural  Properties,  they  have  weight  in  them  as  well  as 
others.    Moral  changes  and  viceousness  of  mind,  make  no  altera- 
tion as  to  these  natural  proprieties  which  are  inseparable  from  the 
body.    Whereas  some  pretend  that  the  Bodies  of  Witches  are  pos- 
sessed with  the  Devil,  and  on  that  account  are  uncapable  of  sinking 
under  the  water;  M aiders  his  reply  is  rational,  viz.  that  the  Allega- 
tion has  no  solidity  in  it,  witness  the  Gadarens  Hoggs,  which  were  no 
sooner  possessed  with  the  Devil  but  they  ran  into  the  Water,  and 
there  perished.    But  if  the  experiment  be  supernatural,  it  must  either 
be  Divine  or  Diabolical.    It  is  not  divine;  for  the  Scripture  does  ho 
where  appoint  any  such  course  to  be  taken  to  find  out  whether  per- 
sons are  in  league  with  the  Devil  or  no.    It  remains  then  that  the 
experiment  is  Diabolical.    If  it  be  said,  that  the  Devil  has  made  a 
compact  with  Wizards,  that  they  shall  not  be  drowned,  and  by  that 
means  that  Covenant  is  discovered;  the  Reply  is,  we  may  not  in  the 
least  build  upon  the  Devils  word.    By  this  Objection  the  matter  is 
ultimately  resolved  into  a  Diabolical  Faith.    And  shall  that  cast  the 
scale,  when  the  lives  of  men  are  concerned  ?    Suppose  the  Devil  saith 
these  persons  are  Witches,  must  the  Judge  therefore  condemn  them  ? 

2.  Experience  hath  proved  this  to  be  a  fallacious  way  of  trying 
Witches,  therefore  it  ought  not  to  be  practised.    Thereby  guilty 
persons  may  happen  to  be  acquitted,  and  the  innocent  to  be  con- 
demned.   The  Devil  may  have  power  to  cause  supernatation  on  the 
water  in  a  person  that  never  made  any  compact  with  him.    And 
many  times  known  and  convicted  Wizards  have  sunk  under  the 


INCREASE  MATHER  69 

water  when  thrown  thereon.  In  the  Bohemian  History  mention  is 
made  of  several  Witches,  who  being  tried  by  cold  water  were  as  much 
subject  to  submersion  as  any  other  persons.  Delrio  reports  the  like 
of  another  Witch.  And  Godelmannus  speaks  of  six  Witches  in  whom 
this  way  of  trial  failed.  Malderus  saith  It  has  been  known  that  the 
very  same  persons  being  often  brought  to  this  probation  by  Water, 
did  at  one  time  swim  and  another  time  sink;  and  this  difference  has 
sometimes  hapned  according  to  the  different  persons  making  the 
experiment  upon  them;  in  which  respect  one  might  with  greater 
reason  conclude  that  the  persons  who  used  the  experiment  were 
Witches,  then  that  the  persons  tried  were  so. 

3.  This  way  of  purgation  is  to  be  accounted  of,  like  other  provo- 
cations or  appeals  to  the  Judgement  of  God,  invented  by  men:  such 
as  Camp-fight,  Explorations  by  hot  water,  &V.    In  former  times  it 
hath  been  customary  (and  I  suppose  tis  so  still  among  the  Norwegians) 
that  the  suspected  party  was  to  put  his  hand  into  scalding  water, 
and  if  he  received  no  hurt  thereby  then  he  was  reputed  innocent; 
but  if  otherwise,  judged  as  guilty.    Also,  the  trial  by  fire  Ordeal  has 
been  used  in  our  Nation  in  times  of  Darkness.     Thus  Emma  the 
Mother  of  King  Edward  the  Confessor,  was  led  barefoot  and  blind- 
fold over  certain  hot  irons,  and  not  hapning  to  touch  any  of  them, 
was  judged  innocent  of  the  crime  which  some  suspected  her  as  guilty 
of.    And  Kunegund  Wife  to  the  Emperour  Henry  II.  being  accused 
of  Adultery,  to  clear  her  self,  did  in  a  great  and  honourable  Assembly 
take  up  seven  glowing  irons  one  after  another  with  her  bare  hand, 
and  had  no  harm  thereby.    These  bloody  kind  of  Experiments  are 
now  generally  banished  out  of  the  World.    It  is  pity  the  Ordeal  by 
cold  water  is  not  exploded  with  the  other. 

4.  This  vulgar  probation  (as  it  useth  to  be  called)  was  first  taken 
up  in  times  of  Superstition,  being  (as  before  was  hinted  of  other 
Magical  Impostures)  propagated  from  Pagans  to  Papists,  who  would 
(as  may  be  gathered  from  Bernards  66  Serm.  in  Cantica)  sometimes 
bring  those  that  were  under  suspicion  for  Heresie  unto  their  Purga- 
tion in  this  way.     We  know  that  our  Ancestors,  the  old  Pagan  Saxons 
had  amongst  them  four  sorts  of  Ordeal  (i.e.  Trial  or  Judgement  as  the 
Saxon  word  signifies)  whereby  when  sufficient  proof  was  wanting, 
they  sought  (according  as  the  Prince  of  darkness  had  instructed  them) 
to  find  out  the  truth  concerning  suspected  persons,  one  of  which 


70  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Ordeals  was  this,  the  persons  surmised  to  be  guilty,  having  Cords 
tied  under  their  Arms,  were  thrown  with  it  into  some  River,  to  see 
whether  they  would  sink  or  swim.  So  that  this  Probation  was  not 
originally  confined  to  Witches,  but  others  supposed  to  be  Criminals 
were  thus  to  be  tried:  but  in  some  Countries  they  thought  meet  thus 
to  examine  none  but  those  who  have  been  suspected  for  familiarity 
with  the  Devil.  That  this  custom  was  in  its  first  rise  superstitious 
is  evident  from  the  Ceremonies  of  old  used  about  it.  For  the  Proba 
is  not  canonical,  except  the  person  be  cast  into  the  Water  with  his 
right  hand  tied  to  his  left  foot.  Also,  by  the  Principle  which  some 
approvers  of  this  Experiment  alledge  to  confirm  their  fansies;  their 
Principle  is,  Nihil  quod  per  Necromantian  fit,  potest  in  aqua  fallere 
aspectum  intuentium.  Hence  William  of  Malmsbury,  Lib.  2.  P.  67. 
tells  a  fabulous  Story  (though  he  relates  it  not  as  such)  of  a  Traveller 
in  Italy  that  was  by  a  Witch  transformed  into  an  Asse,  but  retaining 
his  humane  understanding  would  do  such  feats  of  activity,  as  one 
that  had  no  more  wit  than  an  Asse  could  not  do ;  so  that  he  was  sold 
for  a  great  price;  but  breaking  his  Halter  he  ran  into  the  Water,  and 
thence  was  instantly  unbewitched,  and  turned  into  a  Man  again. 
This  is  as  true  as  Lucian's  Relation  about  his  own  being  by  Witch- 
craft transformed  into  an  Asse;  and  I  suppose  both  are  as  true  as  that 
cold  water  will  discover  who  are  Witches.  It  is  to  be  lamented,  that 
Protestants  should  in  these  days  of  light,  either  practise  or  plead  for 
so  Superstitious  an  Invention,  since  Papists  themselves  have  of 
later  times  been  ashamed  of  it.  Verstegan  in  his  Antiquities,  Lib. 
3.  P.  53.  speaking  of  the  trials  by  Ordeal,  and  of  this  by  cold  water 
in  particular,  has  these  words;  These  aforesaid  kinds  of  Ordeals,  the 
Saxons  long  after  their  Christianity  continued:  but  seeing  they  had  their 
beginnings  in  Paganism  and  were  not  thought  fit  to  be  continued  amongst 
Christians;  at  the  last  by  a  Decree  of  Pope  Stephen  II.  they  were 
abolished.  Thus  he.  Yea,  this  kind  of  trial  by  Water,  was  put 
down  in  Paris  A.  D.  1594.  by  the  supream  Court  there.  Some 
learned  Papists  have  ingenuously  acknowledged  that  such  Probations 
are  Superstitious.  It  is  confessed  that  they  are  so  by  Tyraus,  Bins- 
feldius,  Delrio,  and  by  Malderus  de  magia,  Tract.  10.  Cap.  8.  Dub. 
ii.  who  saith,  that  they  who  shall  practise  this  Superstition,  and  pass 
a  judgement  of  Death  upon  any  persons  on  this  account,  will  (with- 
out repentance)  be  found  guilty  of  Murder  before  God. 


COTTON  MATHER  71 


COTTON  MATHER 

FROM 

THE  WONDERS  OF  THE  INVISIBLE  WORLD 

THE  TRIAL   OF   BRIDGET   BISHOP:    ALIAS,   OLIVER. 
AT  THE  COURT  OF  OYER  AND  TERMINER  HELD  AT  SALEM.      JUNE  2.  1692. 

7.  She  was  Indicted  for  Bewitching  of  several  persons  in  the 
Neighbourhood,  the  Indictment  being  drawn  up,  according  to  the 
Form  in  such  Cases  Usual.  And  pleading,  Not  Guilty,  there  were 
brought  in  several  persons,  who  had  long  undergone  many  kinds  of 
Miseries,  which  were  preternaturally  Inflicted,  and  generally  ascribed 
unto  an  horrible  Witchcraft.  There  was  little  Occasion  to  prove  the 
Witchcraft;  it  being  Evident  and  Notorious  to  all  Beholders.  Now 
to  fix  the  Witchcraft  on  the  Prisoner  at  the  Bar,  the  first  thing  used  was, 
the  Testimony  of  the  Bewitched;  whereof,  several  Testify 'd,  That  the 
Shape  of  the  Prisoner  did  oftentimes  very  grievously  pinch  them, 
choak  them,  Bite  them,  &  Afflict  them;  urging  them  to  write  their 
Names  in  a  Book,  which  the  said  Spectre  called,  Ours.  One  of  them 
did  further  Testify,  that  it  was  the  Shape  of  this  Prisoner,  with 
another,  which  one  Day  took  her  from  her  Wheel,  and  carrying  her 
to  the  River  side,  threatned  there  to  Drown  her,  if  she  did  not  Sign 
to  the  Book  mentioned:  which  yet  she  refused.  Others  of  them  did 
also  Testify,  that  the  said  Shape,  did  in  her  Threats,  brag  to  them,  that 
she  had  been  the  Death  of  sundry  persons,  then  by  her  Named;  that 
she  had  Ridden  a  man,  then  likewise  Named.  Another  Testify'd, 
the  Apparition  of  Ghosts  unto  the  Spectre  of  Bishop,  crying  out,  You 
Murdered  us!  About  the  Truth  whereof,  there  was  in  the  matter  of 
Fact,  but  too  much  Suspicion. 

II.  It  was  Testify'd,  That  at  the  Examination  of  the  Prisoner, 
before  the  Magistrates,  the  Bewitched  were  extreamly  Tortured.  If 
she  did  but  cast  her  Eyes  on  them,  they  were  presently  struck  down; 
and  this  in  such  a  manner  as  there  could  be  no  Collusion  in  the  Busi- 
ness. But  upon  the  Touch  of  her  Hand  upon  them,  when  they 
lay  in  their  Swoons,  they  would  immediately  Revive;  and  not  upon 
the  Touch  of  any  ones  else.  Moreover,  upon  some  Special  Actions 
of  her  Body,  as  the  shaking  of  her  Head,  or  the  Turning  of  her  Eyes, 
they  presently  and  painfully  fell  into  the  like  postures.  And  many 


72  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  the  like  Accidents  now  fell  out,  while  she  was  at  the  Bar.  One 
at  the  same  time  testifying,  That  she  said,  She  could  not  be  Troubled 
to  see  the  Afflicted  thus  Tormented. 

III.  There  was  Testimony  likewise  brought  in,  that  a  man 
striking  once  at  the  place,  where  a  Bewitched  person  said,  the  Shape 
of  this  Bishop  stood,  the  Bewitched  cryed  out,  that  he  had  Tore  her 
Coat,  in  the  place  then  particularly  specify 'd;  and  the  Womans  Coat, 
was  found  to  be  Torn  in  that  very  place. 

IV.  One  Deliverance  Hobbs,  who  had  confessed  her  being  a  Witch, 
was  now  Tormented  by  the  Spectres,  for  her  Confession.    And  she 
now  Testify'd,  That  this  Bishop,  tempted  her  to  Sign  the  Book  again, 
and  to  Deny  what  she  had  Confess'd.    She  affirmed,  that  it  was  the 
Shape  of  this  Prisoner,  which  whipped  her  with  Iron  Rods,  to  compel 
her  thereunto.    And  she  affirmed,  that  this  Bishop  was  at  a  General 
Meeting  of  the  Witches,  in  a  Field  at  Sa/em-Village  and  there  partook 
of  a  Diabolical  Sacrament,  in  Bread  and  Wine  then  Administred! 

V.  To  render  it  further  Unquestionable,  that  the  prisoner  at  the 
Bar,  was  the  Person  truly  charged  in  THIS  Witchcraft,  there  were 
produced  many  Evidences  of  OTHER  Witchcrafts,  by  her  perpetrated. 
For  Instance,  John  Cook  testify'd,  that  about  five  or  six  years  ago, 
One  morning,  about  Sun-Rise,  he  was  in  his  Chamber,  assaulted  by 
the  Shape  of  this  prisoner:  which  Look'd  on  him,  grin'd  at  him,  and 
very  much  hurt  him,  with  a  Blow  on  the  side  of  the  Head:  and  that 
on  the  same  day,  about  Noon,  the  same  Shape  walked  in  the  Room 
where  he  was,  and  an  Apple  strangely  flew  out  of  his  Hand,  into  the 
Lap  of  his  mother,  six  or  eight  foot  from  him. 

VI.  Samuel  Gray,  testify'd,  That  about  fourteen  years  ago,  he 
wak'd  on  a  Night,  &  saw  the  Room  where  he  lay,  full  of  Light;   & 
that  he  then  saw  plainly  a  Woman  between  the  Cradle,  and  the  Bed- 
side, which  look'd  upon  him.    He  Rose,  and  it  vanished;   tho'  he 
found  the  Doors  all  fast.    Looking  out  at  the  Entry-Door,  he  saw 
the  same  Woman,  in  the  same  Garb  again;  and  said,  In  Gods  Name, 
what  do  you  come  for ?    He  went  to  Bed,  and  had  the  same  Woman 
again  assaulting  him.    The  Child  in  the  Cradle  gave  a  great  schreech, 
and  the  Woman  Disappeared.    It  was  long  before  the  Child  could 
be  quieted;  and  tho'  it  were  a  very  likely  thriving  Child,  yet  from  this 
time  it  pined  away,  and  after  divers  months  dy'd  in  a  sad  Condition. 
He  knew  not  Bishop,  nor  her  Name;  but  when  he  saw  her  after 


COTTON  MATHER  73 


this,  he  knew  by  her  Countenance,  and  Apparrel,  and  all  Circum- 
stances, that  it  was  the  Apparition  of  this  Bishop,  which  had  thus 
troubled  him. 

VII.  John  Ely  and  his  wife,  testify'd,  that  he  bought  a  sow  of 
Edward  Bishop,  the  Husband  of  the  prisoner;   and  was  to  pay  the 
price  agreed,  unto  another  person.    This  Prisoner  being  Angry  that 
she  was  thus  hindred  from  fingring  the  money,  QuarrelTd  with  Bly. 
Soon  after  which  the  Sow,  was  taken  with  strange  Fits;   Jumping, 
Leaping,  and  knocking  her  head  against  the  Fence,  she  seem'd  Blind 
and  Deaf,  and  would  neither  eat  nor  be  suck'd.  •  Whereupon  a 
neighbour  said,  she  believed  the  Creature  was  Over-Looked;  &  sundry 
other  circumstances  concurred,  which  made  the  Deponents  Belive 
that  Bishop  had  Bewitched  it. 

VIII.  Richard  Coman  testify'd,  that  eight  years  ago,  as  he  lay 
Awake  in  his  Bed,  with  a  Light  Burning  in  the  Room,  he  was  annoy'd 
with  the  Apparition  of  this  Bishop,  and  of  two  more  that  were 
strangers  to  him;    who  came  and  oppressed  him  so  that  he  could 
neither  stir  himself,  nor  wake  any  one  else :  and  that  he  was  the  night 
after,  molested  again  in  the  like  manner;  the  said  Bishop  taking  him 
by  the  Throat,  and  pulling  him  almost  out  of  the  Bed.    His  kinsman 
offered  for  this  cause  to  lodge  with  him;  and  that  Night,  as  they  were 
Awake  Discoursing  together,  this  Coman  was  once  more  visited, 
by  the  Guests  which  had  formerly  been  so  troublesome;  his  kinsman 
being  at  the  same  time  strook  speechless  and  unable  to  move  Hand  01 
Foot.    He  had  laid  his  sword  by  him;  which  these  unhappy  spectres, 
did  strive  much  to  wrest  from  him;  only  he  held  too  fast  for  them. 
He  then  grew  able  to  call  the  People  of  his  house;  but  altho'  they 
heard  him,  yet  they  had  not  power  to  speak  or  stirr,  until  at  last, 
one  of  the  people  crying  out,  what's  the  matter!  the  spectres  all  vanished. 

IX.  Samuel  Shattock  testify'd,  That  in  the  Year   1680.   this 
Bridget  Bishop,  often  came  to  his  house  upon  such  frivolous  and 
foolish  errands,  that  they  suspected  she  came  indeed  with  a  purpose 
of  mischief.     Presently  whereupon  his  eldest  child,  which  was  of  as 
promising  Health  &  Sense,  as  any  child  of  its  Age,  began  to  droop 
exceedingly;  &  the  oftener  that  Bishop  came  to  the  House,  the  worse 
grew  the  Child.    As  the  Child  would  be  standing  at  the  Door,  he 
would  be  thrown  and  bruised  against  the  stones,  by  an  Invisible 
Hand,  and  in  like  sort  knock  his  Face  against  the  sides  of  the  House, 


74  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  bruise  it  after  a  miserable  manner.  Afterwards  this  Bishop 
would  bring  him  things  to  Dy,  whereof  he  could  not  Imagine  any  use; 
and  when  she  paid  him  a  piece  of  Money,  the  Purse  and  Money  were 
unaccountably  conveyed  out  of  a  Lock'd  box,  and  never  seen  more. 
The  Child  was  immediately  hereupon  taken  with  terrible  fits,  whereof 
his  Friends  thought  he  would  have  dyed :  indeed  he  did  almost  nothing 
but  cry  and  Sleep  for  several  Months  together:  and  at  length  his 
understanding  was  utterly  taken  away.  Among  other  Symptoms 
of  an  Inchantment  upon  him,  one  was,  that  there  was  a  Board  hi  the 
Garden,  whereon  he  would  walk;  and  all  the  invitations  in  the  world 
could  never  fetch  him  off.  About  Seventeen  or  Eighteen  years  after, 
there  came  a  Stranger  to  Shattocks  House,  who  seeing  the  Child,  said, 
This  poor  Child  is  Bewitched;  and  you  have  a  Neighbour  living  not 
far  off,  who  is  a  Witch.  He  added,  Your  Neighbour  has  had  a  falling 
out  with  your  Wife',  and  she  said  in  her  Heart,  your  Wife  is  a  proud 
Woman,  and  she  would  bring  down  her  Pride  in  this  Child:  He  then 
Remembred,  that  Bishop  had  parted  from  his  Wife  in  muttering  and 
menacing  Terms,  a  little  before  the  Child  was  taken  ill.  The  above- 
said  Stranger  would  needs  carry  the  Bewitched  Boy  with  him,  to 
Bishops  House,  on  pretence  of  buying  a  pot  of  Cyder.  The  Woman 
Entertained  him  in  furious  manner;  and  flew  also  upon  the  Boy, 
scratching  his  Face  till  the  Blood  came,  and  saying,  Thou  Rogue, 
what  ?  dost  thou  bring  this  Fellow  here  to  plague  me  ?  Now  it  seems 
the  man  had  said  before  he  went,  that  he  would  fetch  Blood  of  her. 
Ever  after  the  Boy  was  follow'd  with  grievous  Fits,  which  the  Doctors 
themselves  generally  ascribed  unto  Wit[c]hcraft;  and  wherein  he 
would  be  thrown  still  into  the  Fire  or  the  Water,  if  he  were  not  con- 
stantly look'd  after;  and  it  was  verily  believed  that  Bishop  was  the 
cause  of  it. 

X.  John  Louder  testify'd,  that  upon  some  little  controversy 
with  Bishop  about  her  fowles,  going  well  to  Bed,  he  did  awake  in  the 
Night  by  moonlight,  and  did  see  clearly  the  likeness  of  this  woman 
grievously  oppressing  him;  in  which  miserable  condition  she  held 
him  unable  to  help  him  self,  till  near  Day.  He  told  Bishop  of  this; 
but  she  deny'd  it,  and  threatned  him,  very  much.  Quickly  after 
this,  being  at  home  on  a  Lords  Day,  with  the  doors  shutt  about  him, 
he  saw  a  Black  Pig  approach  him;  at  which  he  going  to  kick,  it 
vanished  away.  Immediately  after,  sitting  down,  he  saw  a  Black 


COTTON  MATHER  75 


thing  Jump  in  at  the  Window,  &  come  &  stand  before  him.  The 
Body,  was  like  that  of  a  Monkey,  the  Feet  like  a  Cocks,  but  the  Face 
much  like  a  mans.  He  being  so  extreemly  affrighted,  that  he  could 
not  speak;  this  Monster  spoke  to  him,  and  said,  I  am  a  Messenger 
sent  unto  you,  for  I  understand  that  you  are  in  some  Trouble  of  Mind, 
and  if  you  will  be  ruled  by  me,  you  shall  want  for  nothing  in  this  world. 
Whereupon  he  endeavoured  to  clap  his  hands  upon  it;  but  he  could 
feel  no  substance,  and  it  jumped  out  of  the  window  again;  but 
immediately  came  in  by  the  Porch,  though  the  Doors  were  shut,  and 
said,  You  had  better  take  my  Counsel!  He  then  struck  at  it  with  a 
stick,  but  struck  only  the  Groundsel,  and  broke  the  stick.  The  Arm 
with  which  he  struck  was  presently  Disenabled,  and  it  vanished 
away.  He  presently  went  out  at  the  Back-Door,  and  spyed,  this 
Bishop,  in  her  Orchard,  going  toward  her  House;  but  he  had  not 
power  to  set  one  foot  forward  unto  her.  Whereupon  returning  into 
the  House,  he  was  immediately  accosted  by  the  Monster  he  had 
seen  before;  which  Goblin  was  now  going  to  Fly  at  him:  whereat 
he  cry'd  out,  The  whole  Armour  of  God,  be  between  me  and  you!  So 
it  sprang  back,  and  flew  over  the  Apple  Tree;  shaking  many  Apples 
off  the  Tree,  in  its  flying  over.  At  its  Leap,  it  flung  Dirt  with  its 
Feet,  against  the  Stomach  of  the  man;  whereon  he  was  then  struck 
Dumb,  and  so  continued  for  three  Days  together.  Upon  the  pro- 
ducing of  this  Testimony,  Bishop  deny'd  that  she  knew  this  Deponent: 
yet  their  two  Orchards  joined,  and  they  had  often  had  their  Little 
Quarrels  for  some  years  together. 

XI.  William  Stacy,  Testifyed,  that  receiving  Money  of  this 
Bishop,  for  work  done  by  him,  he  was  gone  but  a  matter  of  Three 
Rods  from  her,  and  looking  for  his  money,  found  it  unaccountably 
gone  from  him.  Some  time  after,  Bishop  asked  him  whether  his 
Father  would  grind  her  grist  for  her?  He  demanded  why?  she 
Reply'd,  Because  Folks  count  me  a  witch.  He  answered,  No  Question, 
but  he  will  grind  it  for  you.  Being  then  gone  about  six  Rods  from  her, 
with  a  small  Load  in  his  Cart,  suddenly  the  Off-wheel  slump't  and 
sunk  down  into  an  Hole  upon  plain  ground,  so  that  the  Deponent, 
was  forced  to  get  help  for  the  Recovering  of  the  wheel.  But  stepping 
Back  to  look  for  the  Hole  which  might  give  him  this  disaster,  there 
was  none  at  all  to  be  found.  Some  time  after,  he  was  waked  in  the 
Night;  but  it  seem'd  as  Light  as  Day,  and  he  perfectly  saw  the  shape 


76  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  this  Bishop,  in  the  Room,  Troubling  of  him;  but  upon  her  going 
out,  all  was  Dark  again.  He  charg'd  Bishop  afterwards  with  it:  and 
she  deny'd  it  not;  but  was  very  angry.  Quickly  after,  this  Deponent 
having  been  threatned  by  Bishop,  as  he  was  in  a  dark  Night  going  to 
the  Barn,  he  was  very  suddenly  taken  or  lifted  from  the  ground, 
and  thrown  against  a  stone  wall;  After  that,  he  was  again  hoisted 
up  and  thrown  down  a  Bank,  at  the  end  of  his  House.  After  this 
again,  passing  by  this  Bishop,  his  Horse  with  a  small  load,  striving 
to  Draw,  all  his  Gears  flew  to  pieces,  and  the  Cart  fell  down;  and  this 
deponent  going  then  to  lift  a  Bag  of  corn,  of  about  two  Bushels;  could 
not  budge  it,  with  all 'his  might. 

Many  other  pranks,  of  this  Bishops,  this  deponent  was  Ready  to 
testify.  He  also  testify'd,  that  he  verily  Believed,  the  said  Bishop, 
was  the  Instrument  of  his  Daughter,  Priscilla's  Death;  of  which  sus- 
picion, pregnant  Reasons  were  assigned. 

XII.  To  Crown  all,  John  Bly,  and  William  Ely,  Testify'd,  That 
being  Employ 'd  by  Bridget  Bishop,  to  help  take  down  the  Cellar-wall, 
of  the  old  House,  wherein  she  formerly  Lived,  they  did  in  Holes  of  the 
said  old  Wall,  find  several  Poppets,  made  up  of  Rags,  and  Hogs 
Brussels,  with  Headless  Pins  in  them,  the  points  being  outward. 
Whereof  she  could  now  give  no  Account  unto  the  Court,  that  was 
Reasonable  or  Tolerable. 

XIII.  One  thing  that  made  against  the  Prisoner  was,  her  being 
evidently  convicted  of  Gross  Lying,  in  the  Court,  several  Times, 
while  she  was  making  her  Plea.    But  besides  this,  a  Jury  of  Women, 
found  a  preternatural  Teat  upon  her  Body;  but  upon  a  second  search, 
within  Three  or  four  Hours,  there  was  no  such  thing  to  be  seen. 
There  was  also  an  account  of  other  people  whom  this  woman  had 
afflicted.    And  there  might  have  been  many  more,  if  they  had  been 
enquired  for.    But  there  was  no  need  of  them. 

XIV.  There  was  one  very  strange  thing  more,  with  which  the 
Court  was  newly  Entertained.    As  this  Woman  was  under  a  Guard, 
passing  by  the  Great  and  Spacious  Meeting-House  of  Salem,  she  gave 
a  Look  towards  the  House.    And  immediately  a  Damon  Invisibly 
Entring  the  Meeting-house,  Tore  down  a  part  of  it;  so  that  tho' 
there  were  no  person  to  be  seen  there,  yet  the  people  at  the  Noise 
running  in,  found  a  Board,  which  was  strongly  fastned  with  several 
Nails,  transported  unto  another  quarter  of  the  House. 


COTTON  MATHER  77 


FROM 

MAGNALIA  CHRISTI  AMERICANA 

CAPTAIN  PHIPS'S   SEARCH  FOR  SUNKEN  TREASURE 

§.4 Being  thus  of  the  True  Temper,  for  doing  of  Great 

Things,  he  betakes  himself  to  the  Sea,  the  Right  Scene  for  such 
Things;  and  upon  Advice  of  a  Spanish  Wreck  about  the  Bahama's, 
he  took  a  Voyage  thither;  but  with  little  more  success,  than  what 
just  served  him  a  little  to  furnish  him  for  a  Voyage  to  England; 
whither  he  went  in  a  Vessel,  not  much  unlike  that  which  the  Dutch- 
men stamped  on  their  First  Coin,  with  these  Words  about  it,  Incertum 
quo  Fata  ferant.  Having  first  informed  himself  that  there  was 
another  Spanish  Wreck,  wherein  was  lost  a  mighty  Treasure,  hither- 
to undiscovered,  he  had  a  strong  Impression  upon  his  Mind  that  He 
must  be  the  Discoverer;  and  he  made  such  Representations  of  his 
Design  at  White-Hall,  that  by  the  Year  1683.  he  became  the  Captain 
of  a  King's  Ship,  and  arrived  at  New-England  Commander  of  the 
Algier-Rose,  a  Frigot  of  Eighteen  Guns,  and  Ninety-Five  Men. 

§.  5.  To  Relate  all  the  Dangers  through  which  he  passed,  both 
by  Sea  and  Land,  and  all  the  Tiresome  Trials  of  his  Patience,  as  well  as 
of  his  Courage,  while  Year  after  Year  the  most  vexing  Accidents 
imaginable  delay'd  the  Success  of  his  Design,  it  would  even  Tire  the 
patience  of  the  Reader:  For  very  great  was  the  Experiment  that 
Captain  Phips  made  of  the  Italian  Observation,  He  that  cann't  suffer 
both  Good  and  Evil,  will  never  come  to  any  great  Preferment 

§.  6.  So  proper  was  his  Behaviour,  that  the  best  Noble  Men  in  the 
Kingdom  now  admitted  him  into  their  Conversation;  but  yet  he  was 
opposed  by  powerful  Enemies,  that  Clogg'd  his  Affairs  with  such 
Demurrages,  and  such  Disappointments,  as  would  have  wholly 
Discouraged  his  Designs,  if  his  Patience  had  not  been  Invincible.  He 
who  can  wait,  hath  what  he  desireth.  This  his  Indefatigable  Patience, 
with  a  proportionable  Diligence,  at  length  overcame  the  Difficulties 
that  had  been  thrown  in  his  way;  and  prevailing  with  the  Duke  of 
Albemarle,  and  some  other  Persons  of  Quality,  to  fit  him  out,  he  set 
Sail  for  the  Fishing-Ground,  which  had  been  so  well  baited  half  an 
Hundred  Years  before :  And  as  he  had  already  discovered  his  Capacity 
for  Business  in  many  considerable  Actions,  he  now  added  unto  those 
Discoveries,  by  not  only  providing  all,  but  also  by  inventing  many  of 


78  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  Instruments  necessary  to  the  prosecution  of  his  intended  Fishery. 
Captain  Phips  arriving  with  a  Ship  and  a  Tender  at  Port  de  la  Plata, 
made  a  stout  Canoo  of  a  stately  Cotton-Tree,  so  large  as  to  carry 
Eight  or  Ten  Oars,  for  the  making  of  which  Periaga  (as  they  call  it)  he 
did,  with  the  same  industry  that  he  did  every  thing  else,  employ  his 
own  Hand  and  Adse,  and  endure  no  little  hardship,  lying  abroad 
in  the  Woods  many  Nights  together.  This  Periaga,  with  the  Tender, 
being  Anchored  at  a  place  Convenient,  the  Periaga  kept  Busking  to 
and  again,  but  could  only  discover  a  Reef  of  Rising  Shoals  thereabouts, 
called,  The  Boilers,  which  Rising  to  be  within  Two  or  Three  Foot  of 
the  Surface  of  the  Sea,  were  yet  so  steep,  that  a  Ship  striking  on  them, 
would  immediately  sink  down,  who  could  say,  how  many  Fathom 
into  the  Ocean?  Here  they  could  get  no  other  Pay  for  their  long 
peeping  among  the  Boilers,  but  only  such  as  caused  them  to  think  upon 
returning  to  their  Captain  with  the  bad  News  of  their  total  Disap- 
pointment. Nevertheless,  as  they  were  upon  the  Return,  one  of  the 
Men  looking,  over  the  side  of  the  Periaga,  into  the  calm  Water,  he  spied 
a  Sea  Feather,  growing,  as  he  judged,  out  of  a  Rock;  whereupon  they 
bad  one  of  their  Indians  to  Dive  and  fetch  this  Feather,  that  they  might 
however  carry  home  something  with  them,  and  make,  at  least,  as  fair  a 
Triumph  as  Caligula's.  The  Diver  bringing  up  the  Feather,  brought 
therewithal  a  surprizing  Story,  That  he  perceived  a  Number  of  Great 
Guns  in  the  Watry  World  where  he  had  found  his  Feather;  the 
Report  of  which  Great  Guns  exceedingly  astonished  the  whole  Com- 
pany ;  and  at  once  turned  their  Despondencies  for  their  ill  success  into 
Assurances,  that  they  had  now  lit  upon  the  true  Spot  of  Ground  which 
they  had  been  looking  for;  and  they  were  further  confirmed  in  these 
Assurances,  when  upon  further  Diving,  the  Indian  fetcht  up  a  Sow, 
as  they  stil'd  it,  or  a  Lump  of  Silver,  worth  perhaps  Two  or  Three 
Hundred  Pounds.  Upon  this  they  prudently  Buoy'd  the  place,  that 
they  might  readily  find  it  again;  and  they  went  back  unto  their 
Captain  whom  for  some  while  they  distressed  with  nothing  but  such 
Bad  News,  as  they  formerly  thought  they  must  have  carried  him: 
Nevertheless,  they  so  slipt  in  the  Sow  of  Silver  on  one  side  under  the 
Table,  where  they  were  now  sitting  with  the  Captain,  and  hearing  him 
express  his  Resolutions  to  wait  still  patiently  upon  the  Providence  of 
God  under  these  Disappointments,  that  when  he  should  look  on  one 
side,  he  might  see  that  Odd  Thing  before  him.  At  last  he  saw  it ;  see- 


COTTON  MATHER  .       79 


ing  it,  he  cried  out  with  some  Agony,  Why  ?  What  is  this  ?  Whence 
comes  this?  And  then,  with  changed  Countenances,  they  told  him 
how,  and  where  they  got  it:  Then,  said  he,  Thanks  be  to  God/  We  are 
made;  and  so  away  they  went,  all  hands  to  Work;  wherein  they  had 
this  one  further  piece  of  Remarkable  Prosperity,  that  whereas  if  they 
had  first  fallen  upon  that  part  of  the  Spanish  Wreck,  where  the  Pieces 
of  Eight  had  been  stowed  in  Bags  among  the  Ballast,  they  had  seen  a 
more  laborious,  and  less  enriching  time  of  it:  Now,  most  happily, 
they  first  fell  upon  that  Room  in  the  Wreck  where  the  Bullion  had  been 
stored  up;  and  they  so  prospered  in  this  New  Fishery,  that  in  a  little 
while  they  had,  without  the  loss  of  any  Man's  Life,  brought  up  Thirty 
Two  Tuns  of  Silver;  for  it  was  now  come  to  measuring  of  Silver  by 
Tuns.  Besides  which,  one  Adderly  of  Providence,  who  had  formerly 
been  very  helpful  to  Captain  Phips  hi  the  Search  of  this  Wreck,  did 
upon  former  Agreement  meet  him  now  with  a  little  Vessel  here;  and 
he,  with  his  few  hands,  took  up  about  Six  Tuns  of  Silver;  whereof 
nevertheless  he  made  so  little  use,  that  in  a  Year  or  Two  he  Died  at 
Bermudas,  and  as  I  have  heard,  he  ran  Distracted  some  while  before 
he  Died.  Thus  did  there  once  again  come  into  the  Light  of  the  Sun, 
a  Treasure  which  had  been  half  an  Hundred  Years  groaning  under 
the  Waters:  And  in  this  time  there  was  grown  upon  the  Plate  a  Crust 
like  Limestone,  to  the  thickness-  of  several  Inches;  which  Crust 
being  broken  open  by  Irons  contrived  for  that  purpose,  they  knockt 
out  whole  Bushels  of  rusty  Pieces  of  Eight  which  were  grown  there- 
into. Besides  that  incredible  Treasure  of  Plate  in  various  Forms, 
thus  fetch'd  up,  from  Seven  or  Eight  Fathom  under  Water,  there  were 
vast  Riches  of  Gold,  and  Pearls,  and  Jewels,  which  they  also  lit  upon; 
and  indeed,  for  a  more  Comprehensive  Invoice,  I  must  but  summarily 
say,  All  that  a  Spanish  Frigot  uses  to  be  enricht  withal.  Thus  did  they 
continue  Fishing  till  their  Provisions  failing  them,  'twas  time  to  be 
gone;  but  before  they  went,  Captain  Phips  caused  Adderly  and  his 
Folk  to  swear,  That  they  would  none  of  them  Discover  the  Place  of 
the  Wreck,  or  come  to  the  Place  any  more  till  the  next  Year,  when  he 
expected  again  to  be  there  himself.  And  it  was  also  Remarkable, 
that  though  the  Sows  came  up  still  so  fast,  that  on  the  very  last  Day 
of  their  being  there,  they  took  up  Twenty,  yet  it  was  afterwards 
found,  that  they  had  in  a  manner  wholly  cleared  that  Room  of 
the  Ship  where  those  Massy  things  were  Stowed. 


8o  AMERICAN  PROSE 


THOMAS  HOOKER 

§  14.  Returning  into  England  in  order  to  a  further  Voyage,  he 
was  quickly  scented  by  the  Pursevants;  who  at  length  got  so  far  up 
with  him,  as  to  knock  at  the  Door  of  that  very  Chamber,  where  he 
was  now  discoursing  with  Mr.  Stone;  who  was  now  become  his 
designed  Companion  and  Assistent  for  the  New  English  Enterprize. 
Mr.  Stone  was  at  that  Instant  smoking  of  Tobacco;  for  which  Mr. 
Hooker  had  been  reproving  him,  as  being  then  used  by  few  Persons  of 
Sobriety;  being  also  of  a  sudden  and  pleasant  Wit,  he  stept  unto  the 
Door,  with  his  Pipe  hi  his  mouth,  and  such  an  Air  of  Speech  and  Look, 
as  gave  him  some  Credit  with  the  Officer.  The  Officer  demanded, 
Whether  Mr.  Hooker  were  not  there  ?  Mr.  Stone  replied  with  a  braving 
sort  of  Confidence,  What  Hooker  ?  Do  you  mean  Hooker  that  liv'd  once 
at  Chelmsford!  The  Officer  answered,  Yes,  He!  Mr.  Stone  imme- 
diately, with  a  Diversion  like  that  which  once  helped  Athanasius, 
made  this  true  Answer,  //  it  be  he  you  look  for,  I  saw  him  about  an  Hour 
ago,  at  such  an  House  in  the  Town ;  you  had  best  hasten  thither  after  him. 
The  Officer  took  this  for  a  sufficient  Account,  and  went  his  way;  but 
Mr.  Hooker,  upon  this  Intimation,  concealed  himself  more  carefully 
and  securely,  till  he  went  on  Board,  at  the  Downs,  in  the  Year  1633, 
the  Ship  which  brought  him,  and  Mr.  Cotton,  and  Mr.  Stone  to  New- 
England:  Where  none  but  Mr.  Stone  was  owned  for  a  Preacher,  at 
their  first  coming  aboard ;  the  other  two  delaying  to  take  their  Turns 
in  the  Publick  Worship  of  the  Ship,  till  they  were  got  so  far  into 
the  main  ocean,  that  they  might  with  Safety,  discover  who  they 
were 

§  16.  Mr.  Hooker  and  Mr.  Cotton  were,  for  their  different  Genius, 
the  Luther  and  Melancthon  of  New  England;  at  their  Arrival  unto 
which  Country,  Mr.  Cotton  settled  with  the  Church  of  Boston,  but 
Mr.  Hooker  with  the  Church  of  New-Town,  having  Mr.  Stone  for  his 
Assistant.  Inexpressible  now  was  the  Joy  of  Mr.  Hooker,  to  find 
himself  surrounded  with  his  Friends,  who  were  come  over  the  Year 
before,  to  prepare  for  his  Reception;  with  open  Arms  he  embraced 
them,  and  uttered  these  words,  Now  I  live,  if  you  standfast  in  the  Lord. 
But  such  multitudes  flocked  over  to  New-England  after  them,  that 
the  Plantation  of  New  Town  became  to  straight  for  them;  and  jt  was 
Mr.  Hooker's  Advice,  that  they  should  not  incur  the  danger  of  a  Sitna, 
or  an  Esek,  where  they  might  have  a  Rehoboth.  Accordingly  in  the 


COTTON  MATHER  8l 


Month  of  June  1636,  they  removed  an  Hundred  Miles  to  the  West- 
ward, with  a  purpose  to  settle  upon  the  delightful  Banks  of  Con- 
necticut River:  And  there  were  about  an  Hundred  Persons  in  the  first 
Company  that  made  this  Removal;  who  not  being  able  to  walk 
above  Ten  Miles  a  Day,  took  up  near  a  Fortnight  in  the  Journey; 
having  no  Pillows  to  take  their  Nightly  Rest  upon,  but  such  as  their 
Father  Jacob  found  in  the  way  to  Padan-Aram.  Here  Mr.  Hooker 
was  the  chief  Instrument  of  beginning  another  Colony,  as  Mr.  Cotton, 
whom  he  left  behind  him,  was,  of  preserving  and  perfecting  that 
Colony  where  he  left  him;  for,  indeed  each  of  them  were  the  Oracle  of 
their  several  Colonies. 

§  17.  Tho'  Mr.  Hooker  had  thus  removed  from  the  Massachuset- 
Bay,  yet  he  sometimes  came  down  to  visit  the  Churches  in  that  Bay: 
But  when  ever  he  came,  he  was  received  with  an  Affection,  like  that 
which  Paul  found  among  the  Galatians;  yea,  'tis  thought,  that  once 
there  seemed  some  Intimation  from  Heaven,  as  if  the  good  People  had 
overdone  in  that  Affection:  For  on  May  26.  1639.  Mr.  Hooker  being 
here  to  preach  that  Lord's  Day  in  the  Afternoon,  his  great  Fame  had 
gathered  a  vast  Multitude  of  Hearers  from  several  other  Congrega- 
tions, and  among  the  rest,  the  Governour  himself,  to  be  made  Par- 
taker of  his  Ministry.  But  when  he  came  to  preach,  he  found  himself 
so  unaccountably  at  a  loss,  that  after  some  shattered  and  broken 
Attempts  to  proceed,  he  made  a  full  stop;  saying  to  the  Assembly, 
That  every  thing  which  he  -would  have  spoken,  was  taken  both  out  of  his 
Mouth,  and  out  of  his  Mind  also',  wherefore  he  desired  them  to  sing  a 
Psalm,  while  he  withdrew  about  half  an  Hour  from  them:  Returning 
then  to  the  Congregation,  he  preached  a  most  admirable  Sermon, 
wherein  he-  held  them  for  two  Hours  together  in  an  extraordinary 
Strain  both  of  Pertinency  and  Vivacity 

§  20.  That  Reverend  and  Excellent  Man,  Mr.  Whitfield,  having 
spent  many  Years  in  studying  of  Books,  did  at  length  take  two  or 
three  Years  to  study  Men;  and  in  pursuance  of  this  Design,  having 
acquainted  himself  with  the  most  considerable  Divines  in  England, 
at  last  he  fell  into  the  Acquaintance  of  Mr.  Hooker;  concerning  whom, 
he  afterwards  gave  this  Testimony:  'That  he  had  not  thought  there 
had  been  such  a  Man  on  Earth;  a  Man  hi  whom  there  shone  so  many 
Excellencies,  as  were  in  this  incomparable  Hooker;  a  Man  in  whom 
Learning  and  Wisdom,  were  so  tempered  with  Zeal,  Holiness,  and 


82  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Watchfulness.'  And  the  same  Observer  having  exactly  Noted  Mr. 
Hooker,  made  this  Remark,  and  gave  this  Report  more  particularly  of 
him,  That  he  had  the  best  Command  of  his  own  Spirit,  which  he  ever  saw 
in  any  Man  whatever.  For  though  he  were  a  Man  of  a  Cholerick 
Disposition,  and  had  a  mighty  Vigour  and  Fervour  of  Spirit,  which  as 
occasion  served,  was  wondrous  useful  unto  him,  yet  he  had  ordinarily 
as  much  Government  of  his  Choler,  as  a  Man  has  of  a  Mastiff  Dog  hi 
a  Chain;  he  could  let  out  his  Dog,  and  pull  in  his  Dog,  as  he  pleased. 
And  another  that  observed  the  Heroical  Spirit  and  Courage,  with 
which  this  Great  Man  fulfilled  his  Ministry,  gave  this  Account  of 
him,  He  was  a  Person  who  while  doing  his  Master's  Work,  would  put  a 
King  in  his  Pocket 

JOHN  ELIOT,   APOSTLE  TO  THE  INDIANS 

The  Natives  of  the  Country  now  Possessed  by  the  New- 
Englanders,  had  been  forlorn  and  wretched  Heathen  ever  since  their 
first  herding  here;  and  tho'  we  know  not  When  or  How  those  Indians 
first  became  Inhabitants  of  this  mighty  Continent,  yet  we  may  guess 
that  probably  the  Devil  decoy'd  those  miserable  Salvages  hither, 
in  hopes  that  the  Gospel  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  would  never  come 
here  to  destroy  or  disturb  his  Absolute  Empire  over  them.  But  our 
Eliot  was  in  such  ill  Terms  with  the  Devil,  as  to  alarm  him  with  sound- 
ing the  Silver  Trumpets  of  Heaven  in  his  Territories,  and  make  some 
Noble  and  Zealous  Attempts  towards  outing  him  of  his  Ancient 
Possessions  here.  There  were,  I  think,  Twenty  several  Nations  (if 
I  may  call  them  so)  of  Indians  upon  that  spot  of  Ground,  which  fell 
under  the  Influence  of  our  Three  United  Colonies;  and  our  Eliot  was 
willing  to  rescue  as  many  of  them  as  he  could,  from  that  old  usurping 
Landlord  of  America,  who  is  by  the  Wrath  of  God,  the  Prince  of  this 
World 

The  First  Step  which  he  judg'd  necessary  now  to  be  taken  by 
him,  was  to  learn  the  Indian  Language;  for  he  saw  them  so  stupid  and 
senseless,  that  they  would  never  do  so  much  as  enquire  after  the 
Religion  of  the  Strangers  now  come  into  their  Country,  much  less 
would  they  so  far  imitate  us,  as  to  leave  off  their  beastly  way  of  living, 
that  they  might  be  Partakers  of  any  Spiritual  Advantage  by  us: 
Unless  we  could  first  address  them  in  a  Language  of  their  own. 
Behold,  new  Difficulties  to  be  surmounted  by  our  indefatigable  Eliot! 
He  hires  a  Native  to  teach  him  this  exotick  Language,  and  with  a 


COTTON  MATHER  83 


laborious  Care  and  Skill,  reduces  it  into  a  Grammar  which  afterwards 
he  published.  There  is  a  Letter  or  two  of  our  Alphabet,  which  the 
Indians  never  had  in  theirs;  tho'  there  were  enough  of  the  Dog  in 
their  Temper,  there  can  scarce  be  found  an  R  in  their  Language;  (any 
more  than  in  the  Language  of  the  Chinese,  or  of  the  Greenlanders) 
save  that  the  Indians  to  the  Northward,  who  have  a  peculiar  Dialect, 
pronounce  an  R  where  an  N  is  pronounced  by  our  Indians',  but  if  their 
Alphabat  be  short,  I  am  sure  the  Words  composed  of  it  are  long  enough 
to  tire  the  Patience  of  any  Scholar  in  the  World;  they  are  Sesquipe- 
dalia  Verba,  of  which  their  Linguo  is  composed;  one  would  think, 
they  had  been  growing  ever  since  Babel,  unto  the  Dimensions  to  which 
they  had  now  extended.  For  instance,  if  my  Reader  will  count  how 
many  Letters  there  are  hi  this  one  Word,  Nummatchekodtantamooon- 
ganunnonash,  when  he  has  done,  for  his  Reward  I'll  tell  him,  it  signi- 
fies no  more  in  English,  than  our  Lusts;  and  if  I  were  to  translate,  our 
Loves,  it  must  be  nothing  shorter  than  Noowomantammooonkanunon- 
nash.  Or,  to  give  my  Reader  a  longer  Word  than  either  of  these, 
Kummogkodonattoottummooetiteaongannunnonash,  is  in  English,  Our 
Question:  But  I  pray,  Sir,  count  the  Letters!  Nor  do  we  find  in  all 
this  Language  the  least  Affinity  to,  or  Derivation  from  any  European 
Speech  that  we  are  acquainted  with.  I  know  not  what  Thoughts  it 
will  produce  in  my  Reader,  when  I  inform  him,  that  once  finding  that 
the  Damons  in  a  possessed  young  Woman,  understood  the  Latin  and 
Greek  and  Hebrew  Languages,  my  Curiosity  led  me  to  make  Trial  of 
this  Indian  Language,  and  the  Damons  did  seem  as  if  they  did  not 
understand  it.  This  tedious  Language  our  Eliot  (the  Anagram  of 
whose  Name  was  TOILE)  quickly  became  a  Master  of;  he  employ'd 
a  pregnant  and  witty  Indian,  who  also  spoke  English  well,  for  his 
Assistance  in  it;  and  compiling  some  Discourses  by  his  Help,  he 
would  single  out  a  Word,  a  Noun,  a  Verb,  and  pursue  it  through  all 
its  Variations:  Having  finished  his  Grammar,  at  the  close  he  writes, 
Prayers  and  Pains  thro'  Faith  in  Christ  Jesus  will  do  any  thing!  And 
being  by  his  Prayers  and  P-ains  thus  furnished,  he  set  himself  in  the 
Year  1646  to  preach  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  among  these 
Desolate  Outcasts. 

A   BEWITCHED   CHILD 

Four  Children  of  John  Goodwin  in  Boston,  which  had  enjoy'd  a 
Religious  Education,  and  answer'd  it  with  a  towardly  Ingenuity: 


84  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Children  indeed  of  an  exemplary  Temper  and  Carriage,  and  an 
Example  to  all  about  them  for  Piety,  Honesty,  and  Industry.  These 
were  in  the  year  1688.  arrested  by  a  very  stupendous  Witchcraft 

It  was  the  Eldest  of  these  Children  that  fell  chiefly  under  my  own 
Observation :  For  I  took  her  home  to  my  own  Family,  partly  out  of 
compassion  to  her  Parents,  but  chiefly,  that  I  might  be  a  critical  Eye- 
Witness  of  things  that  would  enable  me  to  confute  the  Sadducism  of 
this  Debauch'd  Age.  Here  she  continu'd  well  for  some  Days; 
applying  her  self  to  Actions  of  Industry  and  Piety:  But  Nov.  20. 
1688.  she  cry'd  out,  Ah,  they  have  found  me  out!  and  immediately  she 
fell  into  her  Fits;  wherein  we  often  observ'd,  that  she  would  cough 
up  a  Ball  as  big  as  a  small  Egg,  into  the  side  of  her  Wind  pipe,  that 
would  near  choak  her,  till  by  Stroaking  and  by  Drinking  it  was  again 
carry'd  down. 

When  I  pray'd  in  the  Room,  first  her  Hands  were  with  a  strong, 
tho'  not  even  Force,  clapt  upon  her  Ears:  And  when  her  Hands  were 
by  our  Force  pull'd  away,  she  cry'd  out,  They  make  such  a  Noise, 
I  cannot  hear  a  Word!  She  complain'd  that  Glover's  Chain  was  upon 
her  Leg;  and  assaying  to  go,  her  Gate  was  exactly  such  as  the  chain 'd 
Witch  had  before  she  dy'd.  When  her  Tortures  pass'd  over,  still 
Frolicks  would  succeed,  wherein  she  would  continue  Hours,  yea,  Days 
together,  talking  perhaps  never  wickedly  but  always  wittily  byond  her 
self:  And  at  certain  Provocations  her  Torments  would  renew  upon 
her,  till  we  had  left  off  to  Give  them;  yet  she  frequently  told  us  in 
these  Frolicks,  That  if  she  might  but  steal  or  be  drunk,  she  should  be  well 
immediately.  She  told  us,  that  she  must  go  down  to  the  bottom  of  our 
Well,  (and  we  had  much  ado  to  hinder  it)  for  they  said  there  was  Plate 
there,  and  they  would  bring  her  up  safely  again. 

We  wonder' d  at  this:  For  she  had  never  heard  of  any  Plate  there; 
and  we  our  selves,  who  had  newly  bought  the  House,  were  ignorant 
of  it:  but  the  former  Owner  of  the  House  just  then  coming  in,  told 
us  There  had  been  Plate  for  many  Years  lost  at  the  Bottom  of  the  Well. 
Moreover,  one  singular  Passion  that  frequently  attended  her,  was  this: 

An  invisibk  Chain  would  be  clapt  about  her,  and  she  in  much  pain 
and  Fear,  cry  out  when  [They]1  began  to  put  it  on.  Sometimes  we 
could  with  our  Hands  knock  it  off,  as  it  began  to  be  fasten'd:  But 
ordinarily,  when  it  was  on,  she  would  be  pull'd  out  of  her  Seat,  with 

1  Throughout  this  account  the  brackets  are  those  of  the  original  edition. 


COTTON  MATHER  85 


such  Violence,  towards  the  Fire,  that  it  was  as  much  as  one  or  two  of 
us  could  do  to  keep  her  out.  Her  Eyes  were  not  brought  to  be  per- 
pendicular to  her  Feet,  when  she  rose  out  of  her  Seat,  as  the  Mechan- 
ism of  an  humane  Body  requires  in  them  that  rise;  but  she  was 
dragg'd  wholly  by  other  Hands.  And  if  we  stamp'd  on  the  Hearth, 
just  between  her  and  the  Fire,  she  scream'd  out,  That  by  jarring  the 
Chain,  we  hurt  her. 

I  may  add,  that  [They]  put  an  unseen  Rope,  with  a  cruel  Noose, 
about  her  Neck,  whereby  she  was  choak'd  until  she  was  black  hi  the 
Face:  And  tho'  it  was  got  off  before  it  had  kill'd  her;  yet  there  were 
the  Red  Marks  of  it,  and  of  a  Finger  and  a  Thumb  near  it,  remaining 
to  be  seen  for  some  while  afterwards.  Furthermore,  not  only  upon 
her  own  looking  into  the  Bible,  but  if  any  one  else  in  the  Room  did  it, 
wholly  unknown  to  her,  she  would  fall  into  unsufferable  Torments. 

A  Quaker's  Book  being  brought  her,  she  could  quietly  read  whole 
Pages  of  it;  only  the  Name  of  GOD  and  CHRIST,  she  still  skipp'd 
over,  being  unable  to  pronounce  it,  except  sometimes,  stammering 
a  Minute  or  two,  or  more  upon  it:  And  when  we  urg'd  her  to  tell  what 
the  Word  was  that  she  miss'd,  she  would  say,  /  must  not  speak  it: 
They  say  I  must  not.  You  know  what  it  is:  'Tis  G,  and  0,  and  D. 
But  a  Book  against  Quakerism  [They]  would  not  allow  her  to  meddle 
with.  Such  Books,  as  it  might  have  been  profitable  and  edifying  for 
her  to  read,  and  especially  her  Catechisms,  if  she  did  but  offer  to  read 
a  Line  in  them,  she  would  be  cast  into  hideous  Convulsions,  and  be 
tost  about  the  House  like  a  Foot  ball:  But  Books  of  Jest  being  shewn 
her,  she  could  read  them  well  enough,  and  have  cunning  Descants 
upon  them.  Popish  Books  [They]  would  not  hinder  her  from  reading; 
but  [They]  would  from  reading  Books  against  Popery.  A  Book  which 
pretends  to  prove  That  there  are  no  Witches,  was  easily  read  by  her; 
only  the  Name  Devils  and  Witches  might  not  be  utter'd.  A  Book 
which  proves  That  there  are  Witches,  being  exhibited  unto  her,  she 
might  not  read  it:  And  that  Expression  in  the  Story  of  Ann  Cole, 
about  running  to  the  Rock,  always  threw  her  into  sore  Confusions. 

Divers  of  these  Trials  were  made  by  many  Witnesses:  But  I 
considering  that  there  might  be  a  Snare  in  it,  put  a  seasonable  Stop 
to  this  fanciful  Business.  Only  I  could  not  but  be  amaz'd  at  one 
thing:  A  certain  Prayer-Book  being  brought  her,  she  not  only  could 
read  it  very  well,  but  also  did  read  a  large  Part  of  it  over,  calling  it 


86  AMERICAN  PROSE 


her  Bible,  and  putting  a  more  than  ordinary  Respect  upon  it.  If 
she  were  going  into  her  Tortures,  at  the  Tender  of  this  Book,  she 
would  recover  her  self  to  read  it:  Only  when  she  came  to  the  Lord's 
Prayer  now  and  then  occurring  in  that  Book,  she  would  have  her 
Eyes  put  out;  so  that  she  must  turn  over  a  new  Leaf,  and  then  she 
could  read  again.  Whereas  also  there  are  Scriptures  in  that  Book, 
she  could  read  them  there:  but  if  any  shew'd  her  the  very  same 
Scriptures  in  the  Bible  it  self,  she  should  sooner  die  than  read  them: 
And  she  was  likewise  made  unable  to  read  the  Psalms  hi  an  ancient 
Metre,  which  this  Prayer-Book  had  in  the  same  Volume  with  it. 

Besides  these,  there  was  another  inexplicable  Thing  in  her  Con- 
dition. Ever  now  and  then,  an  Invisible  Horse  would  be  brought 
unto  her  by  those  whom  she  only  call'd  [Them,]  and  [Her  Company,] 
upon  the  Approach  of  which,  her  Eyes  wou'd  be  still  clos'd  up:  For 
(said  she)  They  say  I  am  a  Tell-tale,  and  therefore  they  will  not  let  me  see 
them.  Hereupon  she  would  give  a  Spring  as  one  mounting  an  Horse, 
and  selling  her  self  in  a  riding  Posture,  she  would  in  her  Chair  be  agi- 
tated, as  one  sometimes  Ambling,  sometimes  Trotting,  and  sometimes 
Galloping  very  furiously.  In  these  Motions  we  could  not  perceive 
that  she  was  mov'd  by  the  Stress  of  her  Feet  upon  the  Ground,  for 
often  she  touch'd  it  not.  When  she  had  rode  a  Minute  or  two, 
she  would  seem  to  be  at  a  Rendezvous  with  [Them]  that  were  [Her 
Company^  and  there  she  would  maintain  a  Discourse  with  them,  ask- 
ing them  many  Questions  concerning  her  self  [we  gave  her  none  of 
ours]  and  have  Answers  from  them  which  indeed  none  but  her  self 
perceiv'd.  Then  would  she  return  and  inform  us,  How  [They]  did  in- 
tend to  handle  her  for  a  Day  or  two  afterwards,  and  some  other  things  that 
she  inquir'd.  Her  Horse  would  sometimes  throw  her  with  much 
Violence;  especially  if  any  one  stabb'd  or  cut  the  Air  under  her.  But 
she  would  briskly  mount  again,  and  perform  her  Fantastick  Journies, 
mostly  in  her  Chair;  but  sometimes  also  she  would  be  carry 'd  from  her 
Chair,  out  of  one  Room  into  another,  very  odly,  in  the  Postures  of  a 
riding  Woman.  At  length,  she  pretended,  that  her  Horse  could  ride 
up  the  Stairs;  and  unto  admiration  she  rode,  (that  is,  was  toss'd  as 
one  that  rode)  up  the  Stairs.  There  then  stood  open  the  Study  of  one 
belonging  to  the  Family:  Into  which  entring,  she  stood  immediately 
on  her  Feet,  and  cry'd  out,  They  are  gone!  They  are  gone!  They  say 
that  they  cannot, God  won't  let  'em  come  here!  Adding  a  Reason 


COTTON  MATHER  87 


for  it,  which  the  Owner  of  the  Study  thought  more  Kind  than  True. 
And  she  presently  and  perfectly  came  to  her  self,  so  that  her  whole  Dis- 
course and  Carriage  was  alter 'd  unto  the  greatest  measure  of  Sobriety; 
and  she  sate  reading  of  the  Bible  and  other  good  Books,  for  a  good 
part  of  the  Afternoon.  Her  Affairs  calling  her  anon  to  go  down 
again,  the  Damons  were  in  a  quarter  of  a  Minute  as  bad  upon  her  as 
before ;  and  her  Horse  was  waiting  for  her.  Some  then  to  see  whether 
there  had  not  been  a  Fallacy  in  what  had  newly  hapned,  resolv'd  for 
to  have  her  up  unto  the  Study,  where  she  had  been  at  ease  before; 
but  she  was  then  so  strangely  distorted,  that  it  was  an  extream  Diffi- 
culty to  drag  her  up  stairs.  The  Damons  would  pull  her  out  of  the 
Peoples  Hands,  and  make  her  heavier  than  perhaps  Three  of  her  self. 
With  incredible  Toil  (tho'  she  kept  screaming,  They  say  I  must  not  go 
in)  She  was  pull'd  in ;  where  she  was  no  sooner  got,  but  she  could  stand 
on  her  Feet,  and  with  an  alter'd  Note,  say,  Now  I  am  well. 

She  would  be  faint  at  first,  and  say,  She  felt  something  to  go  out  of 
her!  (the  Noises  whereof  we  sometimes  heard,  like  those  of  a  Mouse) 
but  in  a  Minute  or  two  she  could  apply  her  self  to  Devotion,  and 
express  her  self  with  Discretion,  as  weltl  as  ever  in  her  Life. 

To  satisfie  some  Strangers,  the  Experiment  was  divers  times  with 
the  same  Success,  repeated;  until  my  Lothness  to  have  any  thing  done 
like  making  a  Charm  of  a  Room,  caus'd  me  to  forbid  the  Repetition 
of  it.  But  enough  of  this.  The  Ministers  of  Boston  and  Charlstown, 
kept  another  Day  of  Prayer  with  Fasting  for  Goodwin's  afflicted 
Family:  After  which,  the  Children  had  a  Sensible,  but  a  Gradual 
Abatement  of  their  Sorrows,  until  Perfect  Ease  was  at  length  restor'd 
unto  them.  The  young  Woman  dwelt  at  my  House  the  rest  of  the 
Winter;  having  by  a  vertuous  Conversation  made  her  self  enough  wel- 
come to  the  Family.  But  e're  long,  I  thought  it  convenient  for  me 
to  entertain  my  Congregation  with  a  Sermon  on  the  memorable 
Providences  wherein  these  Children  had  been  concern'd,  [afterwards 
publish'd.]  When  I  had  begun  to  study  my  Sermon,  her  Tormentors 
again  seiz'd  upon  her,  and  manag'd  her  with  a  special  Design,  as  was 
plain,  to  disturb  me  in  what  I  was  then  about. 

In  the  worst  of  her  Extravagancies  formerly,  she  was  more  dutiful 
to  my  self  than  I  had  reason  to  expect:  But  now  her  whole  Carriage 
to  me  was  with  a  Sawciness,  which  I  was  not  us'd  any  where  to  be 
treated  withal.  She  would  knock  at  my  Study  door,  affirming  That 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


some  below  would  be  glad  to  see  me;  tho'  there  was  none  that  ask'd  for 
me:  And  when  I  chid  her  for  telling  what  was  false,  her  Answer  was 
Mrs  Mather  is  always  glad  to  see  you!  She  would  call  to  me  with 
numberless  Impertinencies:  And  when  I  came  down,  she  would  throw 
things  at  me,  tho'  none  of  them  could  ever  hurt  me:  And  she  would 
Hector  me  at  a  strange  rate  for  something  I  was  doing  above,  and 
threaten  me  with  Mischief  and  Reproach  that  should  revenge  it.  Few 
Tortures  now  attended  her,  but  such  as  were  provok'd.  Her  Frolicks 
were  numberless;  if  we  may  call  them  hers.  I  was  in  Latin  telling 
some  young  Gentlemen,  That  if  I  should  bid  her  look  to  God,  her 
Eyes  would  be  put  out:  Upon  which  her  Eyes  were  presently  serv'd 
so.  Perceiving  that  her  Troublers  understood  Latin,  some  Trials 
were  thereupon  made  whether  they  understood  Greek  and  Hebrew, 
which  it  seems,  they  also  did;  but  the  Indian  Languages  they  did 
seem  not  so  well  to  understand. 

When  we  went  unto  prayer,  the  Damons  would  throw  her  on  the 
Floor  at  the  Feet  of  him  that  pray'd,  where  she  would  whistle,  and 
sing,  and  yell,  to  drown  the  Voice  of  the  Prayer,  and  she  would  fetch 
Blows  with  her  Fist,  and  Kicks  with  her  Foot,  at  the  Man  that 
Pray'd:  But  still  her  Fist  and  Foot  would  always  recoyl,  when  they 
came  within  an  Inch  or  two  of  him,  as  if  rebounding  against  a  Wall : 
and  then  she  would  beg  hard  of  other  People  to  strike  him,  which  (you 
may  be  sure)  not  being  done,  she  cry'd  out,  He  has  wounded  me  in  the 
Head.  But  before  the  Prayer  was  over,  she  would  be  laid  for  dead, 
wholly  senseless,  and  (unto  appearance)  breathless,  with  her  Belly 
swell'd  like  a  Drum;  And  sometimes  with  croaking  Noises  in  her. 
Thus  wou'd  she  lie,  most  exactly  with  the  Stiffness  and  Posture  of  one 
that  had  been  two  Days  laid  out  for  dead.  Once  lying  thus,  as  he 
that  was  praying,  was  alluding  to  the  Words  of  the  Canaanitess,  and 
saying,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  a  Daughter  vex'd  with  a  Devil,  there  came  a 
big,  but  low  Voice  from  her,  in  which  the  Spectators  did  not  see  her 
Mouth  to  move,  There's  two  or  three  of  us.  When  Prayer  was  ended, 
she  would  revive  in  a  Minute  or  two,  and  continue  as  frolicksome  as 
before. 

She  thus  continu'd  until  Saturday  towards  the  Evening;  when  she 
assay 'd  with  as  nimble,  and  various,  and  pleasant  an  Application,  as 
could  easily  be  us'd,  for  to  divert  the  young  Folks  in  the  Family  from 
such  Exercises,  as  it  was  proper  to  meet  the  Sabbath  withal:  But 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  89 


they  refusing  to  be  diverted,  she  fell  fast  asleep,  and  in  two  or  three 
Hours  wak'd  perfectly  her  self,  weeping  bitterly  to  remember  what 
had  befallen  her.  When  Christinas  arriv'd,  both  she  at  my  House,  and 
her  Sister  at  home,  were  by  the  Damons  made  very  drunk,  tho'  we  are 
fully  satisfied  they  had  no  Strong  Drink  to  make  them  so;  nor  would 
they  willingly  have  been  so,  to  have  gain'd  the  World.  When  she 
began  to  feel  her  self  Drunk,  she  complain'd,  Oh!  they  say  they  will  have 
me  to  keep  Christmas  with  them.  They  will  disgrace  me,  when  they  can 
do  nothing  else.  And  immediately  the  ridiculous  Behaviours  of  one 
drunk,  were  with  a  wondrous  Exactness  represented  in  her  Speaking, 
and  Reeling  and  Spewing,  and  anon  Sleeping,  till  she  was  well  again. 
At  last  the  Damons  put  her  upon  saying  that  she  was  dying,  and 
the  matter  prov'd  such,  that  we  fear'd  she  really  was;  for  she  lay, 
she  toss'd,  she  pull'd,  just  like  one  dying,  and  urg'd  hard  for  some  one 
to  die  with  her,  seeming  loth  to  die  alone.  She  argu'd  concerning 
Death,  with  Paraphrases  on  the  Thirty  first  Psalm,  in  Strains  that 
quite  amaz'd  us:  And  concluded, 'that  tho'  she  was  loth  to  die,  yet  if 
God  said  she  must,  she  must!  Adding,  that  the  Indians  would  quickly 
shed  much  Blood  in  the  Countrey,  and  horrible  Tragedies  would  be 
acted  in  the  Land.  Thus  the  Vexations  of  the  Children  ended. 

But  after  a  while,  they  began  again;  and  then  one  particular 
Minister  taking  a  particular  Compassion  on  the  Family,  set  himself 
to  serve  them  in  the  methods  prescrib'd  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
Accordingly,  the  Lord  being  besought  thrice  in  Three  Days  of  Prayer, 
with  Fasting  on  this  occasion,  the  Family  then  saw  their  Deliverance 
perfected ;  and  the  Children  afterwards  all  of  them,  not  only  approv'd 
themselves  Devout  Christians;  but  unto  the  Praise  of  God  reckon 'd 
these  their  Afflictions  among  the  special  Incentives  of  their  Christianity. 


SAMUEL  SEWALL 

FROM 

THE  DIARY 

Dec.  20,  [1676] Mrs.  Usher  lyes  very  sick  of  an  Inflam- 
mation in  the  Throat,  which  began  on  Monday.  Called  at  her 
House  coming  home,  to  tell  Mr.  Fosterling's  Receipt,  i.  e,  A  Swallows 
Nest  (the  inside)  stamped  and  applied  to  the  throat  outwardly.  .... 


go  AMERICAN  PROSE 


July  8,  1677.  New  Meeting  House  Mane:  In  Sermon  time  there 
came  in  a  female  Quaker,  in  a  Canvas  Frock,  her  hair  disshevelled 
and  loose  like  a  Periwigg,  her  face  as  black  as  ink,  led  by  two  other 
Quakers,  and  two  other  followed.  It  occasioned  the  greatest  and 
most  amazing  uproar  that  I  ever  saw.  Isaiah  I.  12,  14 

Friday  May  22d.  1685,  had  a  private  Fast:  the  Magistrates  of 
this  town  with  their  Wives  here.  Mr.  Eliot  prayed,  Mr.  Willard 
preached.  I  am  afraid  of  Thy  judgments — Text  Mother  gave.  Mr. 
Allen  prayed;  cessation  half  an  hour.  Mr.  Cotton  Mather  prayed; 
Mr.  Mather  preached  Ps.  79,  9.  Mr.  Moodey  prayed  about  an 
hour  and  half;  Sung  the  79th  Psalm  from  the  8th  to  the  End:  dis- 
tributed some  Biskets,  and  Beer,  Cider,  Wine.  The  Lord  hear  in 
Heaven  his  dwelling  place 

Monday,  July  6th An  Indian  was  branded  in  Court  and 

had  a  piece  of  his  Ear  cut  off  for  Burglary 

Thorsday,  Novr.  12 After,  the  Ministers  of  this  Town 

Come  to  the  Court  and  complain  against  a  Dancing  Master  who  seeks 
to  set  up  here  and  hath  mixt  Dances,  and  his  time  of  Meeting  is 
Lecture-Day;  and  'tis  reported  he  should  say  that  by  one  Play  he 
could  teach  more  Divinity  than  Mr.  Willard  or  the  Old  Testament. 
Mr.  Moodey  said  'twas  not  a  time  for  N.E.  to  dance.  Mr.  Mather 
struck  at  the  Root,  speaking  against  mixt  Dances 

Friday,  Augt.  20.  [1686].  Read  the  143,  144  Psalms  mane,  and 
Sam  Read  the  loth  of  Jeremiah.  I  was  and  am  in  great  exercise 
about  the  Cross  to  be  put  into  the  Colours,  and  afraid  if  I  should 
have  a  hand  in  't  whether  it  may  not  hinder  my  Entrance  into  the 
Holy  Land 

Sabbath,  Feb.  6.  [1687].  Between  £  hour  after  n.  and  £  hour 
after  12.  at  Noon,  many  Scores  of  great  Guns  fired  at  the  Castle  and 
Town,  suppose  upon  account  of  the  King's  entring  on  the  third  year 

of  his  Reign This  day  the  Lord's  Supper  was  administered 

at  the  middle  and  North  Meeting-Houses;  the  ratling  of  the  Guns 
during  almost  all  the  time,  gave  them  great  disturbance.  'Twas 
never  so  in  Boston  before. 

Feb.  15, 1686/7.  J°s-  Maylem  carries  a  Cock  at  his  back,  with 
a  Bell  in  's  hand,  in  the  Main  Street;  several  follow  him  blindfold, 
and  under  pretence  of  striking  him  or  's  cock,  with  great  cart-whips 
strike  passengers,  and  make  great  disturbance 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  91 


Wednesday,  May  30.  [1688] Mr.  Joseph  Eliot  here,  says 

the  two  days  wherein  he  buried  his  Wife  and  Son,  were  the  best  that 
ever  he  had  in  the  world 

Friday,  Oct.  5 About  9.  night,  Thomas,  an  Indian  and 

very  usefull  Servant  of  Mr.  Oliver,  hang'd  himself  in  the  Brewhouse. 

Satterday,  Oct.  6.  The  Coroner  sat  on  him,  having  a  Jury, 
and  ordered  his  burial  by  the  highway  with  a  Stake  through  his 
Grave 

Monday,  Oct.  22.  Mr.  Isaac  Walker  is  buried.  Bearers,  Mr. 
James  Taylor,  Mr.  Francis  Burroughs,  Capt.  Tho.  Savage,  Mr. 
Simeon  Stoddard,  Mr.  George  Elleston,  Mr.  Saml.  Checkly;  Deacon 
Eliot  and  I  led  the  young  widow,  and  had  Scarfs  and  Gloves.  The 
Lord  fit  me,  that  my  Grave  may  be  a  Sweetening  place  for  my  Sin- 
polluted  Body 

Sabbath,  Jan.  12.  [1689].  Richard  Dumer,  a  flourishing  youth  of 
9  years  old,  dies  of  the  Small  Pocks.  I  tell  Sam.  of  it  and  what  need 
he  had  to  prepare  for  Death,  and  therefore  to  endeavour  really  to 
pray  when  he  said  over  the  Lord's  Prayer:  He  seem'd  not  much  to 
mind,  eating  an  Apple;  but  when  he  came  to  say,  Our  father,  he 
burst  out  into  a  bitter  Cry,  and  when  I  askt  what  was  the  matter 
and  he  could  speak,  he  burst  out  into  a  bitter  Cry  and  said  he  was 
afraid  he  should  die.  I  pray'd  with  him,  and  read  Scriptures  com- 
forting against  death,  as,  O  death  where  is  thy  sting,  &c.  All  things 
yours.  Life  and  Immortality  brought  to  light  by  Christ,  &c.  'Twas 
at  noon 

Sabbath-day,  August  the  four  and  twentieth,  1690.  I  publish 
my  little  Daughter's  name  to  be  Judith,  held  her  up  for  Mr.  Willard 
to  baptize  her.  She  cried  not  at  all,  though  a  pretty  deal  of  water 
was  poured  on  her  by  Mr.  Willard  when  He  baptized  her 

Sept.  20 My  little  Judith  languishes  and  moans,  ready 

to  die. 

Sabbath,  Sept.  21.  About  2  mane,  I  rise,  read  some  Psalms  and 
pray  with  my  dear  Daughter.  Between  7.  and  8.  (Mr.  Moodey 
preaches  in  the  Forenoon)  I  call  Mr.  Willard,  and  he  prays.  Told 
Mr.  Walter  of  her  condition  at  the  funeral,  desiring  him  to  give  her 
a  lift  towards  heaven.  Mr.  Baily  sat  with  me  in  the  Afternoon. 
I  acquainted  Him.  Between  7.  and  8.  in  the  evening  the  child  died, 
and  I  hope  sleeps  in  Jesus 


92  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Augt.  i  gth,  1692 This  day  George  Burrough,  John 

Willard,  Jno  Procter,  Martha  Carrier  and  George  Jacobs  were 
executed  at  Salem,  a  very  great  number  of  Spectators  being  present. 
Mr.  Cotton  Mather  was  there,  Mr.  Sims,  Hale,  Noyes,  Chiever  &c. 
All  of  them  said  they  were  innocent,  Carrier  and  all.  Mr.  Mather 
says  they  all  died  by  a  Righteous  Sentence.  Mr.  Burrough  by  his 
Speech,  Prayer,  protestation  of  his  Innocence,  did  much  move 
unthinking  persons,  which  occasions  their  speaking  hardly  concerning 
his  being  executed. 

Monday,  Sept.  19,  1692.  About  noon,  at  Salem,  Giles  Corey 
was  press'd  to  death  for  standing  mute;  much  pains  was  used  with 
him  two  days,  one  after  another,  by  the  Court  and  Capt.  Gardner 
of  Nantucket  who  had  been  of  his  acquaintance;  but  all  in  vain. 

Nov.  6.  Joseph  threw  a  knop  of  Brass  and  hit  his  Sister  Betty 
on  the  forhead  so  as  to  make  it  bleed  and  swell;  upon  which,  and 
for  his  playing  at  Prayer-time,  and  eating  when  Return  Thanks, 
I  whipd  him  pretty  smartly.  When  I  first  went  in  (call'd  by  his 
Grandmother)  he  sought  to  shadow  and  hide  himself  from  me  behind 
the  head  of  the  Cradle:  which  gave  me  the  sorrowfull  remembrance 
of  Adam's  carriage. 

Fifth-day,  May  7,  1696.  Col.  Shrimpton  marries  his  Son  to 
his  wive's  Sisters  daughter,  Elisabeth  Richardson.  All  of  the 
Council  in  Town  were  invited  to  the  Wedding,  and  many  others. 
Only  I  was  not  spoken  to.  As  I  was  glad  not  to  be  there  because  the 
lawfullness  of  the  intermarrying  of  Cousin-Germans  is  doubted;  so 
it  grieves  me  to  be  taken  up  in  the  Lips  of  Talkers,  and  to  be  in  such 
a  Condition  that  Col.  Shrimpton  shall  be  under  a  temptation  in 
defence  of  Himself,  to  wound  me;  if  any  should  happen  to  say,  Why 
was  not  such  a  one  here  ?  The  Lord  help  me  not  to  do,  or  neglect 
any  thing  that  should  prevent  the  dwelling  of  brethren  together  in 
unity.  And,  Oh  most  bountifull  and  Gracious  God,  who  givest  lib- 
erally and  upbraidest  not,  admit  me  humbly  to  bespeak  an  Invitation 
to  the  Marriage  of  the  Lamb,  and  let  thy  Grace  with  me  and  in  me 
be  sufficient  for  me  in  making  my  self  Ready 

6th.  day,  Deer.  25,  1696.  We  bury  our  little  daughter.  In  the 
chamber,  Joseph  in  course  reads  Ecclesiastes  3d.  a  time  to  be  born 
and  a  time  to  die — Elisabeth,  Rev.  22.  Hannah,  the  38th  Psalm. 
I  speak  to  each,  as  God  helped,  to  our  mutual  comfort  I  hope.  I 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  93 


order'd  Sam.  to  read  the  102.  Psalm.  Elisha  Cooke,  Edw.  Hutchin- 
son,  John  Baily,  and  Josia  Willard  bear  my  little  daughter  to  the 
Tomb. 

Note.  Twas  wholly  dry,  and  I  went  at  noon  to  see  in  what  order 
things  were  set;  and  there  I  was  entertain'd  with  a  view  of,  and 
converse  with,  the  Coffins  of  my  dear  Father  Hull,  Mother  Hull, 
Cousin  Quinsey,  and  my  Six  Children:  for  the  little  posthumous 
was  now  took  up  and  set  in  upon  that  that  stands  on  John's:  so  are 
three,  one  upon  another  twice,  on  the  bench  at  the  end.  My  Mother 
ly's  on  a  lower  bench,  at  the  end,  with  head  to  her  Husband's  head: 
and  I  order'd  little  Sarah  to  be  set  on  her  Grandmother's  feet.  'Twas 
an  awfull  yet  pleasing  Treat;  Having  said,  The  Lord  knows  who  shall 
be  brought  hether  next,  I  came  away. 

Mr.  Willard  pray'd  with  us  the  night  before;  I  gave  him  a  Ring 
worth  about  203.  Sent  the  President  one,  who  is  sick  of  the  Gout. 
He  prayd  with  my  little  daughter.  Mr.  Oakes,  the  Physician,  Major 
Townsend,  Speaker,  of  whoes  wife  I  was  a  Bearer,  and  was  join'd 
with  me  in  going  to  Albany  and  has  been  Civil  and  treated  me 
several  times.  Left  a  Ring  at  Madam  Cooper's  for  the  Governour. 
Gave  not  one  pair  of  Gloves  save  to  the  Bearers 

Copy  of  the  Bill  I  put  up  on  the  Fast  day;  giving  it  to  Mr. 
Willard  as  he  pass'd  by,  and  standing  up  at  the  reading  of  it,  and 
bowing  when  finished;  in  the  Afternoon. 

Samuel  Sewall,  sensible  of  the  reiterated  strokes  of  God  upon 
himself  and  family;  and  being  sensible,  that  as  to  the  Guilt  con- 
tracted upon  the  opening  of  the  late  Commission  of  Oyer  and  Ter- 
miner  at  Salem  (to  which  the  order  for  this  Day  relates)  he  is,  upon 
many  accounts,  more  concerned  than  any  that  he  knows  of,  Desires 
to  take  the  Blame  and  shame  of  it,  Asking  pardon  of  men,  And 
especially  desiring  prayers  that  God,  who  has  an  Unlimited  Authority, 
would  pardon  that  sin  and  all  other  his  sins;  personal  and  Relative: 
And  according  to  his  infinite  Benignity,  and  Sovereignty,  Not 
Visit  the  sin  of  him,  or  of  any  other,  upon  himself  or  any  of  his,  nor 
upon  the  Land:  But  that  He  would  powerfully  defend  him  against 
all  Temptations  to  Sin,  for  the  future;  and  vouchsafe  him  the  effi- 
cacious, saving  Conduct  of  his  Word  and  Spirit. 

Sixth-day,  Octr.  i.  1697.  Jer.  Balchar's  sons  came  for  us  to  go 
to  the  Island.  My  Wife,  through  Indisposition,  could  not  goe:  But 


94  AMERICAN  PROSE 


I  carried  Sam.  Hannah,  Elisa,  Joseph,  Mary  and  Jane  Tapan:  I 
prevail 'd  with  Mr.  Willard  to  goe,  He  carried  Simon,  Elisabeth, 
William,  Margaret,  and  Elisa  Tyng:  Had  a  very  comfortable  Passage 
thither  and  home  again;  though  against  Tide:  Had  first  Butter, 
Honey,  Curds  and  Cream.  For  Dinner,  very  good  Rost  Lamb, 
Turkey,  Fowls,  Applepy.  After  Dinner  sung  the  121  Psalm.  Note. 
A  Glass  of  spirits  my  Wife  sent  stood  upon  a  Joint-Stool  which, 
Simon  W.  jogging,  it  fell  down  and  broke  all  to  shivers:  I  said  twas 
a  lively  Emblem  of  our  Fragility  and  Mortality.  When  came  home 
met  Capt  Scottow  led  between  two:  He  came  to  visit  me  and  fell 
down  and  hurt  himself;  bruis'd  his  Nose,  within  a  little  of  our 
House 

Second-day,  Febr.  14.  1697/8  Col.  Saml.  Shrimpton  was  buried 
with  Arms;  Ten  Companies,  8,  Muddy  River  and  Sconce:  No 
Horse  nor  Trumpet:  but  a  Horse  led — Mr.  Dyers,  the  Colonel's 
would  not  endure  the  cloa thing:  Mourning  Coach  also  and  Horses 
in  Mourning:  Scutcheon  on  their  sides  and  Deaths  heads  on  their 
foreheads:  Coach  stood  by  the  way  here  and  there  and  mov'd  soli- 
tarily  

Third-Day,  July,  25.  1699 When  I  came  home  Sam, 

Hannah  and  Joanna  being  gon  to  Dorchester  with  Madam  Usher 
to  the  Lecture,  I  found  the  House  empty  and  Lock'd.  Taking  the 
key  I  came  in  and  made  a  shift  to  find  a  solitary  Dinner  of  bak'd 
Pigeons  and  a  piece  of  Cake.  How  happy  I  were,  if  I  could  once 
become  wise  as  a  Serpent  and  harmless  as  a  Dove!  .... 

Tuesday,  June,  loth.  [1701].  Having  last  night  heard  that 
Josiah  Willard  had  cut  off  his  hair  (a  very  full  head  of  hair)  and  put 
on  a  Wigg,  I  went  to  him  this  morning.  Told  his  Mother  what  I 
came  about,  and  she  call'd  him.  I  enquired  of  him  what  Extremity 
had  forced  him  to  put  off  his  own  hair,  and  put  on  a  Wigg?  He 
answered,  none  at  all.  But  said  that  his  Hair  was  streight,  and  that 
it  parted  behinde.  Seem'd  to  argue  that  men  might  as  well  shave 
their  hair  off  their  head,  as  off  their  face.  I  answered  men  were  men 
before  they  had  hair  on  their  faces,  (half  of  mankind  have  never 
any).  God  seems  to  have  ordain'd  our  Hair  as  a  Test,  to  see 
whether  we  can  bring  our  minds  to  be  content  to  be  at  his  finding: 
or  whether  we  would  be  our  own  Carvers,  Lords,  and  come  no  more 
at  Him. 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  95 


Octr.  20.  Mr.  Cotton  Mather  came  to  Mr.  Wilkins's  shop,  and 
there  talked  very  sharply  against  me  as  if  I  had  used  his  father 
worse  than  a  Neger;  spake  so  loud  that  people  in  the  street  might 
hear  him.  Then  went  and  told  Sam,  That  one  pleaded  much  for 
Negros,  and  he  had  used  his  father  worse  than  a  Negro,  and  told 
him  that  was  his  Father.  I  had  read  in  the  morn  Mr.  Dod's 
saying;  Sanctified  Afflictions  are  good  Promotions.  I  found  it  now 
a  cordial.  And  this  caus'd  me  the  rather  to  set  under  my  Father 
and  Mother's  Epitaph, — Psal.  27.10 

Octr.  9.  I  sent  Mr.  Increase  Mather  a  Hanch  of  very  good 
Venison;  I  hope  hi  that  I  did  not  treat  him  as  a  Negro 

Octobr.  22. 1701.  I,  with  Major  Walley  and  Capt.  Saml  Checkly, 
speak  with  Mr.  Cotton  Mather  at  Mr.  Wilkins's.  I  expostulated 
with  him  from  i  Tim.  5.1.  Rebuke  not  an  elder.  He  said  he  had 
consider'd  that :  I  told  him  of  his  book  of  the  Law  of  Kindness  for  the 
Tongue,  whether  this  were  correspondent  with  that.  Whether  cor- 
respondent with  Christ's  Rule:  He  said,  having  spoken  to  me  before 
there  was  no  need  to  speak  to  me  again;  and  so  justified  his  reviling 
me  behind  my  back.  Charg'd  the  Council  with  Lying,  Hypocrisy, 
Tricks,  and  I  know  not  what  all.  I  ask'd  him  if  it  were  done  with 
that  Meekness  as  it  should;  answer'd,  yes 

Thorsday,  Octr.  23.  Mr.  Increase  Mather  said  at  Mr.  Wilkins's, 
If  I  am  a  Servant  of  Jesus  Christ,  some  great  Judgment  will  fall  on 
Capt.  Sewall,  or  his  family 

Second-Day;  Jany.  24.  1703/4  I  paid  Capt.  Belchar  £8-15-0. 
Took  243  in  my  pocket,  and  gave  my  Wife  the  rest  of  my  cash  £4.3-8, 
and  tell  her  she  shall  now  keep  the  Cash;  if  I  want  I  will  borrow  of 
her.  She  has  a  better  faculty  than  I  at  managing  Affairs:  I  will 
assist  her;  and  will  endeavour  to  live  upon  my  Salary;  will  see  what 
it  will  doe.  The  Lord  give  his  Blessing 

Feria  Sexta,  Junii,  30,  1704 After  Dinner,  about  3.  p.m. 

I  went  to  see  the  Execution Many  were  the  people  that  saw 

upon  Broughton's  Hill.  But  when  I  came  to  see  how  the  River 
was  cover'd  with  People,  I  was  amazed:  Some  say  there  were  100 
Boats.  150  Boats  and  Canoes,  saith  Cousin  Moody  of  York.  He 
told  them.  Mr.  Cotton  Mather  came  with  Capt.  Quelch  and  six 
others  for  Execution  from  the  Prison  to  Scarlet's  Wharf,  and  from 
thence  in  the  Boat  to  the  place  of  Execution  about  the  midway 


96  AMERICAN  PROSE 


between  Hanson's  point  and  Broughton's  Warehouse.  Mr.  Bridge 
was  there  also.  When  the  scaffold  was  hoisted  to  a  due  height,  the 
seven  Malefactors  went  up;  Mr.  Mather  pray'd  for  them  standing 
upon  the  Boat.  Ropes  were  all  fasten'd  to  the  Gallows  (save  King, 
who  was  Repriev'd).  When  the  Scaffold  was  let  to  sink,  there  was 
such  a  Screech  of  the  Women  that  my  wife  heard  it  sitting  in  our 
Entry  next  the  Orchard,  and  was  much  surprised  at  it ;  yet  the  wind 
was  sou-west.  Our  house  is  a  full  mile  from  the  place 

Feria  septima,  Apr.  3.  [1708].  I  went  to  Cous.  Burner's  to  see 
his  News-Letter:  while  I  was  there  Mr.  Nathl  Henchman  came  in 
with  his  Flaxen  Wigg;  I  wish'd  him  Joy,  i.e.  of  his  Wedding.  I  could 
not  observe  that  he  said  a  Word  to  me;  and  generally  he  tupi'd  his 
back  upon  me,  when  none  were  in  the  room  but  he  and  I.  This  is 
the  Second  tune  I  have  spoken  to  him,  in  vain,  as  to  any  Answer 
from  him.  First  was  upon  the  death  of  his  Wife,  I  cross'd  the  way 
near  our  house,  and  ask'd  him  how  he  did:  He  only  shew'd  his 
Teeth 

Augt.  26.  Mr.  Henry  Flint,  in  the  way  from  Lecture  came  to  me 
and  mention'd  my  Letter,  and  would  have  discoursed  about  it  in  the 
Street:  I  prevail'd  with  him  to  come  and  dine  with  me,  and  after 
that  I  and  he  discours'd  alone. 

He  argued  that  saying  Saint  Luke  was  an  indifferent  thing;  and 
twas  commonly  used;  and  therefore,  he  might  use  it.  Mr.  Brattle 
used  it.  I  argued  that  'twas  not  Scriptural;  that  twas  absurd  and 
partial  to  saint  Matthew  &c.  and  Not  to  say  Saint  Moses,  Saint 
Samuel  &c.  And  if  we  said  Saint  we  must  goe  thorough,  and  keep 
the  Holy-days  appointed  for  them,  and  turn'd  to  the  Order  hi  the 
Common-Prayer  Book 

April,  30.  [1710] Note.  Last  night  the  Rudder  of  Capt. 

Rose's  Ship  was  cut;  The  reason  was  Capt.  Belchar's  sending  of  her 
away  Laden  with  Wheat  in  this  time  when  Wheat  is  so  dear. 

Second-day,  May,  i,  1710.  Fourty  or  fifty  Men  get  together 
and  seek  some  body  to  head  them  to  hale  Capt.  Roses  Ship  ashoar: 
but  they  were  dissuaded  by  several  sober  Men  to  desist,  which 
they  did 

Octobr.  22.  [1713].  I  go  to  Salem,  visit  Mrs.  Epes,  Col.  Hathorne. 
See  Mr.  Noyes  marry  Mr.  Aaron  Porter  and  Mrs.  Susan  Sewall,  at 
my  Brother's.  Was  a  pretty  deal  of  Company  present;  Mr.  Hirst 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  97 


and  wife,  Mr.  Blower,  Mr.  Prescot,  Mr.  Tuft  Senr.  and  junr,  Madam 
Leverett,  Foxcroft,  Goff,  Kitchen;  Mr.  Samuel  Porter,  Father  of 
the  Bridegroom,  I  should  have  said  before.  Many  young  Gentle- 
men and  Gentlewomen.  Mr.  Noyes  made  a  Speech,  said  Love  was 
the  Sugar  to  sweeten  every  Condition  in  the  married  Relation. 
Pray'd  once.  Did  all  very  well.  After  the  Sack-Posset,  &c.  Sung 
the  45th.  Psalm  from  the  8th  verse  to  the  end,  five  staves.  I  set  it 
to  Windsor  Tune.  I  had  a  very  good  Turky-Leather  Psalm-Book 
which  I  look'd  in  while  Mr.  Noyes  Read:  and  then  I  gave  it  to  the 
Bridegroom  saying,  "I  give  you  this  Psalm-Book  in  order  to  your 
perpetuating  this  Song:  and  I  would  have  you  pray  that  it  may  be 
an  Introduction  to  our  Singing  with  the  Choir  above."  .... 

April,  i.  [1719].  Midweek.  Col.  Townsend  and  Mr.  Wood  dine 
with  me.  In  the  morning  I  dehorted  Sam.  Hirst  and  Grindal  Raw- 
son  from  playing  Idle  Tricks  because  'twas  first  of  April;  They  were 
the  greatest  fools  that  did  so.  N.E.  Men  came  hither  to  avoid  anni- 
versary days,  the  keeping  of  them,  such  as  the  25th  of  Deer.  How 
displeasing  must  it  be  to  God,  the  giver  of  our  Time,  to  keep  anni- 
versary days  to  play  the  fool  with  ourselves  and  others 

8r.  i.  [1720].  Satterday,  I  dine  at  Mr.  Stoddard's:  from  thence 
I  went  to  Madam  Winthrop's  just  at  3.  Spake  to  her,  saying,  my 
loving  wife  died  so  soon  and  suddenly,  'twas  hardly  convenient  for 
me  to  think  of  Marrying  again;  however  I  came  to  this  Resolution, 
that  I  would  not  make  my  Court  to  any  person  without  first  Con- 
sulting with  her.  Had  a  pleasant  discourse  about  7  Single  persons 
sitting  in  the  Fore-seat  71.  2Qth,  viz.  Madm  Rebekah  Dudley, 
Catharine  Winthrop,  Bridget  Usher,  Deliverance  Legg,  Rebekah 
Loyd,  Lydia  Colman,  Elizabeth  Bellingham.  She  propounded  one 
and  another  for  me;  but  none  would  do,  said  Mrs.  Loyd  was  about 
her  Age. 

Octobr.  3.  2.  Waited  on  Madam  Winthrop  again;  'twas  a  little 
while  before  she  came  in.  Her  daughter  Noyes  being  there  alone 
with  me,  I  said,  I  hoped  my  Waiting  on  her  Mother  would  not  be 
disagreeable  to  her.  She  answer'd  she  should  not  be  against  that 

that  might  be  for  her  comfort By  and  by  in  came  Mr.  Airs, 

Chaplain  of  the  Castle,  and  hang'd  up  his  Hat,  which  I  was  a  little 
startled  at,  it  seeming  as  if  he  was  to  lodge  there.  At  last  Madam 
Winthrop  came  too.  After  a  considerable  time,  I  went  up  to  her  and 


98  AMERICAN  PROSE 


said,  if  it  might  not  be  inconvenient  I  desired  to  speak  with  her. 
She  assented,  and  spake  of  going  into  another  Room;  but  Mr.  Airs 
and  Mrs.  Noyes  presently  rose  up,  and  went  out,  leaving  us  there 
alone.  Then  I  usher'd  in  Discourse  from  the  names  in  the  Fore- 
seat;  at  last  I  pray'd  that  Katharine  might  be  the  person  assign'd 
for  me.  She  instantly  took  it  up  in  the  way  of  Denyal,  as  if  she  had 
catch'd  at  an  Opportunity  to  do  it,  saying  she  could  not  do  it  before 
she  was  asked.  Said  that  was  her  mind  unless  she  should  Change 
it,  which  she  believed  she  should  not;  could  not  leave  her  Children. 
I  express'd  my  Sorrow  that  she  should  do  it  so  Speedily,  pray'd  her 
Consideration,  and  ask'd  her  when  I  should  wait  on  her  agen.  She 
setting  no  time,  I  mention'd  that  day  Sennight.  Gave  her  Mr. 
Willard's  Fountain  open'd  with  the  little  print  and  verses;  saying, 
I  hop'd  if  we  did  well  read  that  book,  we  should  meet  together  here- 
after, if  we  did  not  now.  She  took  the  Book  and  put  in  her  Pocket. 

Took  Leave 

8r.  6th.  A  little  after  6.  p.m.  I  went  to  Madam  Winthrop's. 
She  was  not  within.  I  gave  Sarah  Chickering  the  Maid  23.,  Juno, 
who  brought  in  wood,  is.  Afterward  the  Nurse  came  in,  I  gave  her 
i8d,  having  no  other  small  Bill.  After  awhile  Dr.  Noyes  came  in 
with  his  Mother;  and  quickly  after  his  wife  came  in:  They  sat 
talking,  I  think  till  eight  a-clock.  I  said  I  fear'd  I  might  be  some 
Interruption  to  their  Business:  Dr.  Noyes  reply'd  pleasantly:  He 
fear'd  they  might  be  an  Interruption  to  me,  and  went  away.  Madam 
seem'd  to  harp  upon  the  same  string.  Must  take  care  of  her  Children ; 
could  not  leave  that  House  and  Neighbourhood  where  she  had  dwelt 
so  long.  I  told  her  she  might  doe  her  children  as  much  or  more  good 
by  bestowing  what  she  laid  out  in  Hous-keeping,  upon  them.  Said 
her  Son  would  be  of  Age  the  7th  of  August.  •  I  said  it  might  be  incon- 
venient for  her  to  dwell  with  her  Daughter-in-Law,  who  must  be 
Mistress  of  the  House.  I  gave  her  a  piece  of  Mr.  Belcher's  Cake 
and  Ginger-Bread  wrapped  up  in  a  clean  sheet  of  Paper;  told  her  of 
her  Father's  kindness  to  me  when  Treasurer,  and  I  Constable.  My 
Daughter  Judith  was  gon  from  me  and  I  was  more  lonesom — might 
help  to  forward  one  another  in  our  Journey  to  Canaan. — Mr.  Eyre 
came  within  the  door;  I  saluted  him,  ask'd  how  Mr.  Clark  did,  and 
he  went  away.  I  took  leave  about  9  aclock.  I  told  I  came  now  to 
refresh  her  Memory  as  to  Monday-night;  said  she  had  not  forgot  it. 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  99 


In  discourse  with  her,  I  ask'd  leave  to  speak  with  her  Sister;  I  meant 
to  gain  Madm  Mico's  favour  to  persuade  her  Sister.  She  seem'd 
surpris'd  and  displeas'd,  and  said  she  was  in  the  same  condi- 
tion! .... 

8r.  loth In  the  Evening  I  visited  Madam  Winthrop,  who 

treated  me  with  a  great  deal  of  Curtesy;  Wine,  Marmalade 

8r.  nth.  I  writ  a  few  Lines  to  Madam  Winthrop  to  this  pur- 
pose: "Madam,  These  wait  on  you  with  Mr.  Mayhew's  Sermon, 
and  Account  of  the  state  of  the  Indians  on  Martha's  Vinyard.  I 
thank  you  for  your  Unmerited  Favours  of  yesterday;  and  hope  to 
have  the  Happiness  of  Waiting  on  you  to-morrow  before  Eight 
a-clock  after  Noon.  I  pray  GOD  to  keep  you,  and  give  you  a  joyfull 
entrance  upon  the  Two  Hundred  and  twenty  ninth  year  of  Chris- 
topher Columbus  his  Discovery;  and  take  Leave,  who  am,  Madam, 
your  humble  Servt.  S.  S. 

Sent  this  by  Deacon  Green,  who  deliver'd  it  to  Sarah  Chicker- 
ing,  her  Mistress  not  being  at  home. 

8r.  12 At  Madm  Winthrop's  Steps  I  took  leave  of 

Capt  Hill,  &c. 

Mrs.  Anne  Cotton  came  to  door  (twas  before  8.)  said  Madam 
Winthrop  was  within,  directed  me  into  the  little  Room,  where  she 
was  full  of  work  behind  a  Stand;  Mrs.  Cotton  came  in  and  stood. 
Madam  Winthrop  pointed  to  her  to  set  me  a  Chair.  Madam  Win- 
throp's Countenance  was  much  changed  from  what  'twas  on  Monday, 
look'd  dark  and  lowering.  At  last,  the  work,  (black  stuff  or  Silk) 
was  taken  away,  I  got  my  Chair  in  place,  had  some  Converse,  but 
very  Cold  and  indifferent  to  what  'twas  before.  Ask'd  her  to  acquit 
me  of  Rudeness  if  I  drew  off  her  Glove.  Enquiring  the  reason,  I  told 
her  twas  great  odds  between  handling  a  dead  Goat,  and  a  living  Lady. 
Got  it  off.  I  told  her  I  had  one  Petition  to  ask  of  her,  that  was,  that 
she  would  take  off  the  Negative  she  laid  on  me  the  third  of  October; 
She  readily  answer'd  she  could  not,  and  enlarg'd  upon  it;  She  told 
me  of  it  so  soon  as  she  could;  could  not  leave  her  house,  children, 
neighbours,  business.  I  told  her  she  might  do  som  Good  to  help  and 
support  me.  Mentioning  Mrs.  Gookin,  Nath,  the  widow  Weld  was 
spoken  of;  said  I  had  visited  Mrs.  Denison.  Z  told  her  Yes!  After- 
ward I  said,  If  after  a  first  and  second  Vagary  she  would  Accept  of 
me  returning,  Her  Victorious  Kindness  and  Good  Will  would  be  very 


ioo  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Obliging.  She  thank'd  me  for  my  Book,  (Mr.  Mayhew's  Sermon), 
But  said  not  a  word  of  the  Letter.  When  she  insisted  on  the  Nega- 
tive, I  pray'd  there  might  be  no  more  Thunder  and  Lightening,  I 
should  not  sleep  all  night.  I  gave  her  Dr.  Preston,  The  Church's 
Marriage  and  the  Church's  Carriage,  which  cost  me  6s  at  the  Sale. 
The  door  standing  open,  Mr.  Airs  came  in,  hung  up  his  Hat,  and  sat 
down.  After  awhile,  Madam  Winthrop  moving,  he  went  out.  Jno 
Eyre  look'd  in,  I  said  How  do  ye,  or,  your  servant  Mr.  Eyre:  but 
heard  no  word  from  him.  Sarah  fill'd  a  Glass  of  Wine,  she  drank  to 
me,  I  to  her,  She  sent  Juno  home  with  me  with  a  good  Lantern, 
I  gave  her  6d.  and  bid  her  thank  her  Mistress.  In  some  of  our  Dis- 
course, I  told  her  I  had  rather  go  to  the  Stone-House  adjoining  to  her, 
than  to  come  to  her  against  her  mind.  Told  her  the  reason  why  I 
came  every  other  night  was  lest  I  should  drink  too  deep  draughts  of 
Pleasure.  She  had  talk'd  of  Canary,  her  kisses  were  to  me  better 
than  the  best  Canary.  Explain'd  the  expression  Concerning  Colum- 
bus  

8r.  17 In  the  Evening  I  visited  Madam  Winthrop,  who 

Treated  me  Courteously  but  not  in  Clean  Linen  as  sometimes.  She 
said,  she  did  not  know  whether  I  would  come  again,  or  no.  I  ask'd 
her  how  she  could  so  impute  inconstancy  to  me.  (I  had  not  visited 
her  since  Wednesday  night  being  unable  to  get  over  the  Indisposition 
received  by  the  Treatment  received  that  night,  and  /  must  in  it 
seem'd  to  sound  like  a  made  piece  of  Formality.)  Gave  her  this 
day's  Gazett 

8r.  19.  Midweek,  Visited  Madam  Winthrop;  Sarah  told  me  she 
was  at  Mr.  Walley's,  would  not  come  home  till  late.  I  gave  her 
Hannah  3  oranges  with  her  Duty,  not  knowing  whether  I  should  find 
her  or  no.  Was  ready  to  go  home:  but  said  if  I  knew  she  was  there, 
I  would  go  thither.  Sarah  seem'd  to  speak  with  pretty  good  Cour- 
age, She  would  be  there.  I  went  and  found  her  there,  with  Mr.  Walley 
and  his  wife  in  the  little  Room  below.  At  7  a-clock  I  mentioned 
going  home;  at  8. 1  put  on  my  Coat,  and  quickly  waited  on  her  home. 
She  found  occasion  to  speak  loud  to  the  servant,  as  if  she  had  a  mind 
to  be  known.  Was  Courteous  to  me;  but  took  occasion  to  speak 
pretty  earnestly  about  my  keeping  a  Coach:  I  said  'twould  cost  £100. 
per  annum:  she  said  twould  cost  but  £40.  Spake  much  against 
John  Winthrop,  his  false-heartedness.  Mr.  Eyre  came  in  and  sat 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL  101 


awhile;  I  offer'd  him  Dr.  Incr.  Mather's  Sermons,  whereof  Mr. 
Appleton's  Ordination  Sermon  was  one;  said  he  had  them  already. 
I  said  I  would  give  him  another.  Exit.  Came  away  somewhat 
late. 

8r.  20 Madam  Winthrop  not  being  at  Lecture,  I  went 

thither  first;  found  her  very  Serene  with  her  daughter  Noyes,  Mrs. 
Bering,  and  the  widow  Shipreev  sitting  at  a  little  Table,  she  in  her 
arm'd  Chair.  She  drank  to  me,  and  I  to  Mrs.  Noyes.  After  awhile 
pray'd  the  favour  to  speak  with  her.  She  took  one  of  the  candles, 
and  went  into  the  best  Room,  clos'd  the  shutters,  sat  down  upon  the 
Couch.  She  told  me  Madam  Usher  had  been  there,  and  said  the 
Coach  must  be  set  on  Wheels,  and  not  by  Rusting.  She  spake  som- 
thing  of  my  needing  a  Wigg.  Ask'd  me  what  her  Sister  said  to  me. 
I  told  her,  She  said,  If  her  Sister  were  for  it,  She  would  not  hinder  it. 
But  I  told  her,  she  did  not  say  she  would  be  glad  to  have  me  for  her 
brother.  Said,  I  shall  keep  you  in  the  Cold,  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
be  within  to  morrow  night,  for  we  had  had  but  a  running  Feat. 
She  said  she  could  not  tell  whether  she  should,  or  no.  I  took  leave. 
As  were  drinking  at  the  Governour's,  he  said:  In  England  the 
Ladies  minded  little  more  than  that  they  might  have  Money,  and 
Coaches  to  ride  in.  I  said,  And  New-England  brooks  its  Name. 
At  which  Mr.  Dudley  smiled.  Govr  said  they  were  not  quite  so 
bad  here. 

8r.  21.  Friday,  My  Son,  the  Minister,  came  to  me  p.m.  by 
appointment  and  we  pray  one  for  another  in  the  Old  Chamber; 
more  especially  respecting  my  Courtship.  About  6. 'a-clock  I  go 
to  Madam  Winthrop's;  Sarah  told  me  her  Mistress  was  gon  out,  but 
did  not  tell  me  whither  she  went.  She  presently  prder'd  me  a  Fire; 
so  I  went  in,  having  Dr.  Sibb's  Bowels  with  me  to  read.  I  read  the 
two  first  Sermons,  still  no  body  came  in:  at  last  about  9.  a-clock 
Mr.  Jno  Eyre  came  in;  I  took  the  opportunity  to  say  to  him  as  I  had 
done  to  Mrs.  Noyes  before,  that  I  hoped  my  Visiting  his  Mother 
would  not  be  disagreeable  to  him;  He  answered  me  with  much 
Respect.  When  twas  after  9.  a-clock  He  of  himself  said  he  would 
go  and  call  her,  she  was  but  at  one  of  his  Brothers:  A  while  after 
I  heard  Madam  Winthrop's  voice,  enquiring  somthing  about  John. 
After  a  good  while  and  Clapping  the  Garden  door  twice  or  thrice, 
she  came  in.  I  mention'd  somthing  of  the  lateness;  she  banter'd 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


me,  and  said  I  was  later.  She  receiv'd  me  Courteously.  I  ask'd 
when  our  proceedings  should  be  made  publick:  She  said  They  were 
like  to  be  no  more  publick  than  they  were  already.  Offer'd  me  no 
Wine  that  I  remember.  I  rose  up  at  n  a-clock  to  come  away,  saying 
I  would  put  on  my  Coat,  She  offer'd  not  to  help  me.  I  pray'd  her 
that  Juno  might  light  me  home,  she  open'd  the  Shutter,  and  said 
twas  pretty  light  abroad;  Juno  was  weary  and  gon  to  bed.  So  I  came 
home  by  Star-light  as  well  as  I  could.  At  my  first  coming  in,  I  gave 
Sarah  five  shillings.  I  writ  Mr.  Eyre  his  Name  in  his  book  with  the 
date  Octobr.  21.  1720.  It  cost  me  8s.  Jehovah  jireh!  Madam  told 
me  she  had  visited  M.  Mico,  Wendell,  and  Wm  Clark  of  the  South. 

Octobr.  22.  Daughter  Cooper  visited  me  before  my  going  out 
of  Town,  staid  till  about  Sun  set.  I  brought  her  going  near  as  far  as 
the  Orange  Tree.  Coming  back,  near  Leg's  Corner,  Little  David 
Jeffries  saw  me,  and  looking  upon  me  very  lovingly,  ask'd  me  if  I 
was  going  to  see  his  Grandmother  ?  I  said,  Not  to-night.  Gave 
him  a  peny,  and  bid  him  present  my  Service  to  his  Grandmother. 

Octobr.  24.  I  went  in  the  Hackny  Coach  through  the  Common, 
stop'd  at  Madam  Winthrop's  (had  told  her  I  would  take  my  departure 
from  thence).  Sarah  came  to  the  door  with  Katee  in  her  Anns: 
but  I  did  not  think  to  take  notice  of  the  Child.  Call'd  her  Mistress. 
I  told  her,  being  encourag'd  by  David  Jeffries  loving  eyes,  and  sweet 
Words,  I  was  come  to  enquire  whether  she  could  find  in  her  heart  to 
leave  that  House  and  Neighbourhood,  and  go  and  dwell  with  me  at 
the  South-end;  I  think  she  said  softly,  Not  yet.  I  told  her  It  did 
not  ly  in  my  Lands  to  keep  a  Coach.  If  I  should,  I  should  be  in 
danger  to  be  brought  to  keep  company  with  her  Neighbour  Brooker, 
(he  was  a  little  before  sent  to  prison  for  Debt).  Told  her  I  had  an 
Antipathy  against  those  who  would  pretend  to  give  themselves;  but 
nothing  of  their  Estate.  I  would  a  proportion  of  my  Estate  with 
my  self.  And  I  suppos'd  she  would  do  so.  As  to  a  Perriwig,  My 
best  and  greatest  Friend,  I  could  not  possibly  have  a  greater,  began  to 
find  me  with  Hair  before  I  was  born,  and  had  continued  to  do  so  ever 
since;  and  I  could  not  fincl  in  my  heart  to  go  to  another.  She  com- 
mended the  book  I  gave  her,  Dr.  Preston,  the  Church  Marriage; 
quoted  him  saying  'twas  inconvenient  keeping  out  of  a  Fashion 
commonly  used.  I  said  the  Time  and  Tide  did  circumscribe  my 
Visit.  She  gave  me  a  Dram  of  Black-Cherry  Brandy,  and  gave  me 


SAMUEL  SEWALL  103 


a  lump  of  the  Sugar  that  was  in  it.  She  wish'd  me  a  good  Journy. 
I  pray'd  God  to  keep  her,  and  came  away.  Had  a  very  pleasant 
Journy  to  Salem 

Novr.  2.  Midweek,  went  again,  and  found  Mrs.  Alden  there, 
who  quickly  went  out.  Gave  her  about  ^  pound  of  Sugar  Almonds, 
cost  35  per  £.  Carried  them  on  Monday.  She  seem'd  pleas'd  with 
them,  ask'd  what  they  cost.  Spake  of  giving  her  a  Hundred  pounds 
per  annum  if  I  dy'd  before  her.  Ask'd  her  what  sum  she  would  give 
me,  if  she  should  dy  first  ?  Said  I  would  give  her  time  to  Consider 
of  it.  She  said  she  heard  as  if  I  had  given  all  to  my  Children  by 
Deeds  of  Gift.  I  told  her  'twas  a  mistake,  Point-Judith  was  mine 
&c.  That  in  England,  I  own'd,  my  Father's  desire  was  that  it  should 
go  to  my  eldest  Son;  'twas  2o£  per  annum;  she  thought  'twas  forty. 
I  think  when  I  seem'd  to  excuse  pressing  this,  she  seem'd  to  think 
twas  best  to  speak  of  it;  a  long  winter  was  coming  on.  Gave  me 
a  Glass  or  two  of  Canary. 

Novr.  4th.  Friday,  Went  again  about  7.  a-clock;  found  there 
Mr.  John  Walley  and  his  wife:  sat  discoursing  pleasantly.  I  shew'd 
them  Isaac  Moses's  Writing.  Madam  W.  serv'd  Comfeits  to  us. 
After  a-while  a  Table  was  spread,  and  Supper  was  set.  I  urg'd  Mr. 
Walley  to  Crave  a  Blessing;  but  he  put  it  upon  me.  About  9.  they 
went  away.  I  ask'd  Madam  what  fashioned  Neck-lace  I  should 
present  her  with,  She  said,  None  at  all.  I  ask'd  her  Whereabout 
we  left  off  last  time;  mention'd  what  I  had  offer'd  to  give  her; 
Ask'd  her  what  she  would  give  me;  She  said  she  could  not  Change 
her  Condition:  She  had  said  so  from  the  beginning;  could  not  be 
so  far  from  her  Children,  the  Lecture.  Quoted  the  Apostle  Paul 
affirming  that  a  single  Life  was  better  than  a  Married.  I  answer'd 
That  was  for  the  present  Distress.  Said  she  had  not  pleasure  in 
things  of  that  nature  as  formerly:  I  said,  you  are  the  fitter  to  make 
me  a  Wife.  If  she  held  in  that  mind,  I  must  go  home  and  bewail  my 
Rashness  in  making  more  haste  than  good  Speed.  However,  con- 
sidering the  Supper,  I  desired  her  to  be  within  next  Monday  night, 
if  we  liv'd  so  long.  Assented.  She  charg'd  me  with  saying,  that 
she  must  put  away  Juno,  if  she  came  to  me:  I  utterly  denyed  it, 
it  never  came  in  my  heart;  yet  she  insisted  upon  it;  saying  it  came 
in  upon  discourse  about  the  Indian  woman  that  obtained  her  Freedom 
this  Court.  About  10.  I  said  I  would  not  disturb  the  good  orders 


104  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  her  House,  and  came  away.  She  not  seeming  pleas'd  with  my 
Coming  away.  Spake  to  her  about  David  Jeffries,  had  not  seen  him. 

Monday,  Novr.  yth I  went  to  Mad.  Winthrop;  found  her 

rocking  her  little  Katee  in  the  Cradle.  I  excus'd  my  Coming  so  late 
(near  Eight).  She  set  me  an  arm'd  Chair  and  Cusheon;  and  so  the 
Cradle  was  between  her  arm'd  Chair  and  mine.  Gave  her  the  rem- 
nant of  my  Almonds;  She  did  not  eat  of  them  as  before;  but  laid 
them  away;  I  said  I  came  to  enquire  whether  she  had  alter 'd  her 
mind  since  Friday,  or  remained  of  the  same  mind  still.  She  said, 
Thereabouts.  I  told  her  I  loved  her,  and  was  so  fond  as  to  think 
that  she  loved  me:  She  said  had  a  great  respect  for  me.  I  told  her, 
I  had  made  her  an  offer,  without  asking  any  advice;  she  had  so  many 
to  advise  with,  that  twas  a  hindrance.  The  Fire  was  come  to  one 
short  Brand  besides  the  Block,  which  Brand  was  set  up  in  end;  at 
last  it  fell  to  pieces,  and  no  Recruit  was  made:  She  gave  me  a  Glass 
of  Wine.  I  think  I  repeated  again  that  I  would  go  home  and  bewail 
my  Rashness  in  making  more  haste  than  good  Speed.  I  would 
endeavour  to  contain  myself,  and  not  go  on  to  sollicit  her  to  do  that 
which  she  could  not  Consent  to.  Took  leave  of  her.  As  came  down 
the  steps  she  bid  me  have  a  Care.  Treated  me  Courteously.  Told 
her  she  had  enter'd  the  4th  year  of  her  Widowhood.  I  had  given 
her  the  News-Letter  before:  I  did  not  bid  her  draw  off  her  Glove  as 
sometime  I  had  done.  Her  Dress  was  not  so  clean  as  somtime  it 
had  been.  Jehovah  jireh! 

Midweek,  gr.  gth.  Dine  at  Bro  Stoddard's:  were  so  kind  as 
to  enquire  of  me  if  they  should  invite  M'm  Winthrop;  I  answer'd 

No At  night  our  Meeting  was  at  the  Widow  Belknap's. 

Gave  each  one  of  the  Meeting  One  of  Mr.  Homes's  Sermons,  12  in  all; 
She  sent  her  servant  home  with  me  with  a  Lantern.  Madam  Win- 
throp's  Shutters  were  open  as  I  pass'd  by 

Novr.  nth.  Went  not  to  Mm.  Winthrop's.  This  is  the  2d 
Withdraw 

Novr.  14.  Madam  Winthrop  visits  my  daughter  Sewall  with 
her  Katee 

About  the  middle  of  Deer  Madam  Winthrop  made  a  Treat  for 
her  Children;  Mr.  Sewall,  Prince,  Willoughby:  I  knew  nothing  of  it; 
but  the  same  day  abode  in  the  Council  Chamber  for  fear  of  the  Rain, 
and  din'd  alone  upon  Kilby's  Pyes  and  good  Beer 


SARAH  K.  KNIGHT  105 


March,  5.  [1721].  Lord's  Day,  Serene,  and  good  but  very  cold, 
yet  had  a  comfortable  opportunity  to  celebrate  the  Lord's  Supper. 
Mr.  Prince,  p.m.  preach'd  a  Funeral  Sermon  from  Psal.  oo.  10. 
Gave  Capt.  Hill  a  good  Character.  Just  as  I  sat  down  in  my  Seat, 
one  of  my  Fore-teeth  in  my  under  Jaw  came  out,  and  I  put  it  in  my 
pocket.  This  old  servant  and  daughter  of  Musick  leaving  me,  does 
thereby  give  me  warning  that  I  must  shortly  resign  my  Head:  the 
Lord  help  me  to  do  it  cheerfully! 


SARAH  K.  KNIGHT 

FROM 

THE  JOURNAL 

Monday,  Octb'r.  ye  second,  1704. — About  three  o'clock  after- 
noon, I  begun  my  Journey  from  Boston  to  New-Haven;  being  about 
two  Hundred  Mile.  My  Kinsman,  Capt.  Robert  Luist,  waited  on 
me  as  fair  as  Dedham,  where  I  was  to  meet  ye  Western  post. 

I  vissitted  the  Reverd.  Mr.  Belcher,  ye  Minister  of  ye  town,  and 
tarried  there  till  evening,  in  hopes  ye  post  would  come  along.  But 
he  not  coming,  I  resolved  to  go  to  Billingses  where  he  used  to  lodg, 
being  12  miles  further.  But  being  ignorant  of  the  way,  Madm 
Billings,  seing  no  persuasions  of  her  good  spouses  or  hers  could  pre- 
vail with  me  to  Lodg  there  that  night,  Very  kindly  went  wyth  me  to 
ye  Tavern,  where  I  hoped  to  get  my  guide,  And  desired  the  Hostess 
to  inquire  of  her  guests  whether  any  of  them  would  go  with  mee.  But 
they  being  tyed  by  the  Lipps  to  a  pewter  engine,  scarcely  allowed 
themselves  time  to  say  what  clownish  ***** 

[Here  half  a  page  of  the  MS.  is  gone.} 

*  *  *  Pieces  of  eight,  I  told  her  no,  I  would  not  be  accessary  to  such 
extortion. 

Then  John  shan't  go,  sais  shee.  N6,  indeed,  shan't  hee;  And 
held  forth  at  that  rate  a  long  tune,  that  I  began  to  fear  I  was  got 
among  the  Quaking  tribe,  beleeving  not  a  Limbertong'd  sister  among 
them  could  out  do  Madm.  Hostes. 

Upon  this,  to  my  no  small  surprise,  son  John  arrose,  and  gravely 
demanded  what  I  would  give  him  to  go  with  me?  Give  you,  sais 


io6  AMERICAN  PROSE 


I,  are  you  John?  Yes,  says  he,  for  want  of  a  Better;  And  behold! 
this  John  look't  as  old  as  my  Host,  and  perhaps  had  bin  a  man  in  the 
last  Century.  Well,  Mr.  John,  sais  I,  make  your  demands.  Why, 
half  a  pss.  of  eight  and  a  dram,  sais  John.  I  agreed,  and  gave  him 
a  Dram  (now)  in  hand  to  bind  the  bargain. 

My  hostess  catechis'd  John  for  going  so  cheep,  saying  his  poor 
wife  would  break  her  heart  ***** 

[Here  another  half  page  of  the  MS  is  gone.] 

His  shade  on  his  Hors  resembled  a  Globe  on  a  Gate  post.  His  habitt, 
Hors  and  furniture,  its  looks  and  goings  Incomparably  answered  the 
rest. 

Thus  Jogging  on  with  an  easy  pace,  my  Guide  telling  mee  it 
was  dangero's  to  Ride  hard  in  the  Night,  (whch  his  horse  had  the 
the  sence  to  avoid,)  Hee  entertained  me  with  the  Adventurs  he  had 
passed  by  late  Rideing,  and  eminent  Dangers  he  had  escaped,  so 
that,  Remembring  the  Hero's  in  Parismus  and  the  Knight  of  the 
Oracle,  I  didn't  know  but  I  had  mett  wth  a  Prince  disguis'd. 

When  we  had  Ridd  about  an  how'r,  wee  come  into  a  thick 
swamp,  wch.  by  Reason  of  a  great  fogg,  very  much  startled  mee, 
it  being  now  very  Dark.  But  nothing  dismay'd  John:  Hee  had 
encountered  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  such  Swamps,  having 
a  Universal!  Knowledge  in  the  woods;  and  readily  Answered  all  my 
inquiries  wch.  were  not  a  few. 

In  about  an  how'r,  or  something  more,  after  we  left  the  Swamp, 
we  come  to  Billinges,  where  I  was  to  Lodg.  My  Guide  dismounted 
and  very  Complasantly  help't  me  down  and  shewd  the  door,  signing 
to  me  wth  his  hand  to  Go  in;  wch  I  Gladly  did — But  had  not  gone 
many  steps  into  the  Room,  ere  I  was  Interogated  by  a  young  Lady 
I  understood  afterwards  was  the  Eldest  daughter  of  the  family,  with 
these,  or  words  to  this  purpose,  (viz.)  Law  for  mee — what  in  the 
world  brings  You  here  at  this  time  a  night  ? — I  never  see  a  woman 
on  the  Rode  so  Dreadfull' late,  in  all  the  days  of  my  versall  life. 
Who  are  You  ?  Where  are  You  going  ?  I'me  scar'd  out  of  my  witts 
— with  much  now  of  the  same  Kind.  I  stood  aghast,  Prepareing  to 
reply,  when  in  comes  my  Guide — to  him  Madam  turn'd,  Roreing 
out:  Lawfull  heart,  John,  is  it  You? — how  de  do!  Where  in  the 
world  are  you  going  with  this  woman?  Who  is  she?  John  made 


SARAH  K.  KNIGHT  107 


no  Ansr.  but  sat  down  in  the  corner,  fumbled  out  his  black  Junk,  and 
saluted  that  instead  of  Debb;  she  then  turned  agen  to  mee  and  fell 
anew  into  her  silly  questions,  without  asking  me  to  sitt  down. 

I  told  her  shee  treated  me  very  Rudely,  and  I  did  not  think  it 
my  duty  to  answer  her  unmannerly  Questions.  But  to  get  ridd  of 
them,  I  told  her  I  come  there  to  have  the  post's  company  with  me 
to-morrow  on  my  Journey,  &c.  Miss  star'd  awhile,  drew  a  chair, 
bid  me  sitt,  And  then  run  up  stairs  and  putts  on  two  or  three  Rings, 
(or  else  I  had  not  seen  them  before,)  and  returning,  sett  herself  just 
before  me,  showing  the  way  to  Reding,  that  I  might  see  her  Orna- 
ments, perhaps  to  gain  the  more  respect.  But  her  Granam's  new 
Rung  sow,  had  it  appeared,  would  [have]  affected  me  as  much. 
I  paid  honest  John  wth  money  and  dram  according  to  contract,  and 
Dismist  him,  and  pray'd  Miss  to  shew  me  where  I  must  Lodg.  Shee 
conducted  me  to  a  parlour  in  a  little  back  Lento,  wch  was  almost 
fill'd  wth  the  bedsted,  wch  was  so  high  that  I  was  forced  to  climb  on 
a  chair  to  gitt  up  to  ye  wretched  bed  that  lay  on  it;  on  wch  having 
Stretcht  my  tired  Limbs,  and  lay'd  my  head  on  a  Sad-colourd  pillow, 
I  began  to  think  on  the  transactions  of  ye  past  day. 

Tuesday,  October  ye  third,  about  8  in  the  morning,  I  with  the 
Post  proceeded  forward  without  observing  any  thing  remarkable; 
And  about  two,  afternoon,  Arrived  at  the  Post's  second  stage,  where 
the  western  Post  mett  him  and  exchanged  Letters.  Here,  having 
called  for  something  to  eat,  ye  woman  bro't  in  a  Twisted  thing  like 
a  cable,  but  something  whiter;  and  laying  it  on  the  bord,  tugg'd  for 
life  to  bring  it  into  a  capacity  to  spread;  wch  having  wth  great 
pains  accomplished,  shee  serv'd  in  a  dish  of  Pork  and  Cabage,  I 
suppose  the  remains  of  Dinner.  The  sause  was  of  a  deep  Purple, 
wch  I  tho't  was  boil'd  in  her  dye  Kettle;  the  bread  was  Indian,  and 
every  thing  on  the  Table  service  Agreeable  to  these.  I,  being 
hungry,  gott  a  little  down;  but  my  stomach  was  soon  cloy'd,  and 
what  cabbage  I  swallowed"  serv'd  me  for  a  Cudd  the  whole  day  after. 

Having  here  discharged  the  Ordnary  for  self  and  Guide,  (as  I 
understood  was  the  custom,)  About  Three  afternoon  went  on  with 
my  Third  Guide,  who  Rode  very  hard;  and  having  crossed  Provi- 
dence Ferry,  we  come  to  a  River  wch  they  Generally  Ride  thro'. 
But  I  dare  not  venture;  so  the  Post  got  a  Ladd  and  Cannoo  to  carry 
me  to  tother  side,  and  hee  rid  thro'  and  Led  my  hors.  The  Cannoo 


108  AMERICAN  PROSE 


was  very  small  and  shallow,  so  that  when  we  were  in  she  seem'd 
redy  to  take  in  water,  which  greatly  terrified  mee,  and  caused  me  to 
be  very  circumspect,  sitting  with  my  hands  fast  on  each  side,  my 
eyes  stedy,  not  daring  so  much  as  to  lodg  my  tongue  a  hair's  breadth 
more  on  one  side  of  my  mouth  then  tother,  nor  so  much  as  think  on 
Lott's  wife,  for  a  wry  thought  would  have  oversett  our  wherey: 
But  was  soon  put  out  of  this  pain,  by  feeling  the  Cannoo  on  shore, 
wch  I  as  soon  almost  saluted  with  my  feet;  and  Rewarding  my 
sculler,  again  mounted  and  made  the  best  of  our  way  forwards. 
The  Rode  here  was  very  even  and  ye  day  pleasant,  it  being  now  near 
Sunsett.  But  the  Post  told  mee  we  had  neer  14  miles  to  Ride  to  the 
next  Stage,  (where  we  were  to  Lodg.)  I  askt  him  of  the  rest  of  the 
Rode,  foreseeing  wee  must  travail  in  the  night.  Hee  told  mee  there 
was  a  bad  River  we  were  to  Ride  thro',  wch  was  so  very  firce  a  hors 
could  sometimes  hardly  stem  it:  But  it  was  but  narrow,  and  wee 
should  soon  be  over.  I  cannot  express  The  concern  of  mind  this 
relation  sett  me  in:  no  thoughts  but  those  of  the  dang'ros  River  could 
entertain  my  Imagination,  and  they  were  as  formidable  as  varies, 
still  Tormenting  me  with  blackest  Ideas  of  my  Approching  fate — 
Sometimes  seing  my  self  drowning,  otherwhiles  drowned,  and  at  the 
best  like  a  holy  Sister  Just  come  out  of  a  Spiritual  Bath  in  dripping 
Garments. 

Now  was  the  Glorious  Luminary,  wth  his  swift  Coursers  arrived 
at  his  Stage,  leaving  poor  me  wth  the  rest  of  this  part  of  the  lower 
world  in  darkness,  with  which  wee  were  soon  Surrounded.  The  only 
Glimering  we  now  had  was  from  the  spangled  Skies,  Whose  Imper- 
fect Reflections  rendered  every  Object  formidable.  Each  lifeless 
Trunk,  with  its  shatter'd  Limbs,  appear'd  an  Armed  Enymie;  and 
every  little  stump  like  a  Ravenous  devourer.  Nor  could  I  so  much 
as  discern  my  Guide,  when  at  any  distance,  which  added  to  the  terror. 

Thus,  absolutely  lost  in  Thought,  and  dying  with  the  very 
thoughts  of  drowning,  I  come  up  wth  the  post,  who  I  did  not  see  till 
even  with  his  Hors:  he  told  mee  he  stopt  for  mee;  and  wee  Rode 
on  Very  deliberatly  a  few  paces,  when  we  entred  a  Thickett  of  Trees 
and  Shrubbs,  and  I  perceived  by  the  Hors's  going,  we  were  on  the 
descent  of  a  Hill,  wch,  as  wee  come  neerer  the  bottom,  'twas  totaly 
dark  wth  the  Trees  that  surrounded  it.  But  I  knew  by  the  Going 
of  the  Hors  wee  had  entred  the  water,  wch  my  Guide  told  mee  was 


SARAH  K.  KNIGHT  109 


the  hazzardos  River  he  had  told  me  off;  and  hee,  Riding  up  close 
to  my  Side,  Bid  me  not  fear — we  should  be  over  Imediatly.  I  now 
ralyed  all  the  Courage  I  was  mistriss  of,  Knowing  that  I  must  either 
Venture  my  fate  of  drowning,  or  be  left  like  ye  Children  in  the 
wood.  So,  as  the  Post  bid  me,  I  gave  Reins  to  my  Nagg;  and 
sitting  as  Stedy  as  Just  before  in  the  Cannoo,  in  a  few  minutes 
got  safe  to  the  other  side,  which  hee  told  mee  was  the  Narragansett 

country 

Being  come  to  mr.  Havens',  I  was  very  civilly  Received,  and 
courteously  entertained,  in  a  clean  comfortable  House;  and  the  Good 
woman  was  very  active  in  helping  off  my  Riding  clothes,  and  then 
ask't  what  I  would  eat.  I  told  her  I  had  some  Chocolett,  if  shee 
would  prepare  it;  which  with  the  help  of  some  Milk,  and  a  little  clean 
brass  Kettle,  she  soon  effected  to  my  satisfaction.  I  then  betook  me 
to  my  Apartment,  wch  was  a  little  Room  parted  from  the  Kitchen 
by  a  single  bord  partition;  where,  after  I  had  noted  the  Occurrances 
of  the  past  day,  I  went  to  bed,  which,  tho'  pretty  hard,  Yet  neet  and 
handsome.  But  I  could  get  no  sleep,  because  of  the  Clamor  of  some 
of  the  Town  tope-ers  in  next  Room,  Who  were  entred  into  a  strong 
debate  concerning  ye  Signifycation  of  the  name  of  their  Country, 
(viz.)  Narraganset.  One  said  it  was  named  so  by  ye  Indians,  because 
there  grew  a  Brier  there,  of  a  prodigious  Highth  and  bigness,  the  like 
hardly  ever  known,  called  by  the  Indians  Narragansett;  And  quotes 
an  Indian  of  so  Barberous  a  name  for  his  Author,  that  I  could  not 
write  it.  His  Antagonist  Replyed  no — It  was  from  a  Spring  it  had 
its  name,  wch  hee  well  knew  where  it  was,  which  was  extreem  cold 
in  summer,  and  as  Hott  as  could  be  imagined  in  the  winter,  which 
was  much  resorted  too  by  the  natives,  and  by  them  called  Narra- 
gansett, (Hott  and  Cold,)  and  that  was  the  originall  of  their  places 
name — with  a  thousand  Impertinances  not  worth  notice,  wch  He 
utter'd  with  such  a  Roreing  voice  and  Thundering  blows  with  the 
fist  of  wickedness  on  the  Table,  that  it  peirced  my  very  head.  I 
heartily  fretted,  and  wish't  'urn  tongue  tyed;  but  wth  as  little  succes 
as  a  freind  of  mine  once,  who  was  (as  shee  said)  kept  a  whole  night 
awake,  on  a  Jorny,  by  a  country  Left,  and  a  Sergent,  Insigne  and 
a  Deacon,  contriving  how  to  bring  a  triangle  into  a  Square.  They 
kept  calling  for  tother  Gill,  wch  while  they  were  swallowing,  was  some 
Intermission;  But  presently,  like  Oyle  to  fire,  encreased  the  flame. 


HO  AMERICAN  PROSE 


I  set  my  Candle  on  a  Chest  by  the  bed  side,  and  setting  up,  fell  to 
my  old  way  of  composing  my  Resentments,  in  the  following  manner: 

I  ask  thy  Aid,  O  Potent  Rum! 

To  Charm  these  wrangling  Topers  Dum. 

Thou  hast  their  Giddy  Brains  possest — 

The  man  confounded  wth  the  Beast — 

And  I,  poor  I,  can  get  no  rest. 

Intoxicate  them  with  thy  fumes: 

O  still  their  Tongues  till  morning  comes  1 

And  I  know  not  but  my  wishes  took  effect;  for  the  dispute  soon 
ended  wth  'tother  Dram;  and  so  Good  night! 

Wedensday,  Octobr  4th.  About  four  in  the  morning,  we  set  out 
for  Kingston  (for  so  was  the  Town  called)  with  a  french  Docter  in 
our  company.  Hee  and  ye  Post  put  on  very  furiously,  so  that  I 
could  not  keep  up  with  them,  only  as  now  and  then  they'd  stop  till 
they  see  mee.  This  Rode  was  poorly  furnished  wth  accommodations 
for  Travellers,  so  that  we  were  forced  to  ride  22  miles  by  the  post's 
account  but  neerer  thirty  by  mine,  before  wee  could  bait  so  much  as  our 
Horses,  wch  I  exceedingly  complained  of.  But  the  post  encourag'd 
mee,  by  saying  wee  should  be  well  accommodated  anon  at  mr.  Devills, 
a  few  miles  further.  But  I  questioned  whether  we  ought  to  go  to  the 
Devil  to  be  helpt  out  of  affliction.  However,  like  the  rest  of,  De- 
luded souls  that  post  to  ye  Infernal  denn,  Wee  made  all  posible 
speed  to  this  Devil's  Habitation;  where  alliting,  in  full  assurance  of 
good  accommodation,  wee  were  going  in.  But  meeting  his  two 
daughters,  as  I  suposed  twins,  they  so  neerly  resembled  each  other, 
both  in  features  and  habit,  and  look't  as  old  as  the  Divel  himselfe, 
and  quite  as  Ugly,  We  desired  entertainm't,  but  could  hardly  get 
a  word  out  of  'um,  till  with  our  Importunity,  telling  them  our  necesity, 
&c.  they  call'd  the  old  Sophister,  who  was  as  sparing  of  his  words  as 
his  daughters  had  bin,  and  no,  or  none,  was  the  reply's  hee  made  us 
to  our  demands.  He  differed  only  in  this  from  the  old  fellow  in 

to'ther  Country:  hee  let  us  depart From  hence  we  proceeded 

(about  ten  forenoon)  through  the  Narragansett  country,  pretty 
Leisurely;  and  about  one  afternoon  come  to  Paukataug  River,  wch 
was  about  two  hundred  paces  over,  and  now  very  high,  and  no  way 
over  to  to'ther  side  but  this.  I  darid  not  venture  to  Ride  thro,  my 
courage  at  best  in  such  cases  but  small,  And  now  at  the  Lowest  Ebb, 
by  reason  of  my  weary,  very  weary,  hungry  and  uneasy  Circum- 


SARAH  K.  KNIGHT  III 


stances.  So  takeing  leave  of  my  company,  tho'  wth  no  little  Reluc- 
tance, that  I  could  not  proceed  wth  them  on  my  Jorny,  Stop  at  a  little 
cottage  Just  by  the  River,  to  wait  the  Waters  falling,  wch  the  old 
man  that  lived  there  said  would  be  in  a  little  time,  and  he  would 
conduct  me  safe  over.  This  little  Hutt  was  one  of  the  wretchedest 
I  ever  saw  a  habitation  for  human  creatures.  It  was  suported 
with  shores  enclosed  with  Clapbords,  laid  on  Lengthways,  and  so 
much  asunder,  that  the  Light  come  throu'  every  where;  the  doore 
tyed  on  wth  a  cord  in  ye  place  of  hinges;  The  floor  the  bear  earth; 
no  windows  but  such  as  the  thin  covering  afforded,  nor  any  furniture 
but  a  Bedd  wth  a  glass  Bottle  hanging  at  ye  head  on't;  an  earthan 
cupp,  a  small  pewter  Bason,  A  Bord  wth  sticks  to  stand  on,  instead 
of  a  table,  and  a  block  or  two  in  ye  corner  instead  of  chairs.  The 
family  were  the  old  man,  his  wife  and  two  Children;  all  and  every 
part  being  the  picture  of  poverty.  Notwithstanding  both  the  Hutt 
and  its  Inhabitance  were  very  clean  and  tydee:  to  the  crossing  the 
Old  Proverb,  that  bare  walls  make  giddy  hows-wifes. 

I  Blest  myselfe  that  I  was  not  one  of  this  misserable  crew 
....  I  had  scarce  done  thinking,  when  an  Indian-like  Animal  come 
to  the  door,  on  a  creature  very  much  like  himselfe,  in  mien  and  feature, 
as  well  as  Ragged  cloathing;  and  having  'litt,  makes  an  Awkerd 
Scratch  wth  his  Indian  shoo,  and  a  Nodd,  sitts  on  ye  block,  fumbles 
out  his  black  Junk,  dipps  it  in  ye  Ashes,  and  presents  it  piping  hott 
to  his  muscheeto's,  and  fell  to  sucking  like  a  calf,  without  speaking, 
for  near  a  quarter  of  a  hower.  At  length  the  old  man  said  how  do's 
Sarah  do  ?  who  I  understood  was  the  wretches  wife,  and  Daughter 
to  ye  old  man:  he  Replyed — as  well  as  can  be  expected,  &c.  So 
I  remembred  the  old  say,  and  supposed  I  knew  Sarah's  case.  Butt 
hee  being,  as  I  understood,  going  over  the  River,  as  ugly  as  hee  was, 
I  was  glad  to  ask  him  to  show  me  ye  way  to  Saxtons,  at  Stoningtown; 
wch  he  promising,  I  ventur'd  over  wth  the  old  mans  assistance;  who 
having  rewarded  to  content,  with  my  tattertailed  guide,  I  Ridd  on 
very  slowly  thro'  Stoningtown,  where  the  Rode  was  very  Stony  and 
uneven.  I  asked  the  fellow,  as  we  went,  divers  questions  of  the 
place  and  way,  &c.  I  being  arrived  at  my  country  Saxtons,  at 
Stonington,  was  very  well  accommodated  both  as  to  victuals  and 
Lodging,  the  only  Good  of  both  I  had  found  since  my  setting  out. 
Here  I  heard  there  was  an  old  man  and  his  Daughter  to  come  that 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


way,  bound  to  N.  London;  and  being  now  destitute  of  a  Guide, 
gladly  waited  for  them,  being  in  so  good  a  harbour,  and  accordingly, 
Thirsday,  Octobr  ye  5th,  about  3  in  the  afternoon,  I  sat  forward  with 
neighbour  Polly  and  Jemima,  a  Girl  about  18  Years  old,  who  hee 
said  he  had  been  to  fetch  out  of  the  Narragansetts,  and  said  they  had 
Rode  thirty  miles  that  day,  on  a  sory  lean  Jade,  wth  only  a  Bagg 
under  her  for  a  pillion,  which  the  poor  Girl  often  complain'd  was 
very  uneasy 

Being  safely  arrived  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Prentices  in  N.  London, 
I  treated  neighbour  Polly  and  daughter  for  their  divirting  company, 
and  bid  them  farewell;  and  between  nine  and  ten  at  night  waited 
on  the  Revd  Mr.  Gurdon  Saltonstall,  minister  of  the  town,  who  kindly 
Invited  me  to  Stay  that  night  at  his  house,  where  I  was  very  hand- 
somely and  plentifully  treated  and  Lodg'd;  and  made  good  the  Great 
Character  I  had  before  heard  concerning  him:  viz.  that  hee  was  the 
most  affable,  courteous,  Genero's  and  best  of  men. 

Friday,  Octor  6th.  I  got  up  very  early,  in  Order  to  hire  somebody 
to  go  with  mee  to  New  Haven,  being  in  Great  parplexity  at  the 
thoughts  of  proceeding  alone;  which  my  most  hospitable  entertainer 
observing,  himselfe  went,  and  soon  return'd  wth  a  young  Gentleman 
of  the  town,  who  he  could  confide  in  to  Go  with  mee;  and  about  eight 
this  morning,  wth  Mr.  Joshua  Wheeler  my  new  Guide,  takeing  leave 
of  this  worthy  Gentleman,  Wee  advanced  on  towards  Seabrook 

Saturday,  Oct.  7th,  we  sett  out  early  in  the  Morning,  and  being 
something  unaquainted  wth  the  way,  having  ask't  it  of  some  wee 
mett,  they  told  us  wee  must  Ride  a  mile  or  two  and  turne  down  a  Lane 
on  the  Right  hand;  and  by  their  Direction  wee  Rode  on,  but  not 
Yet  comeing  to  ye  turning,  we  mett  a  Young  fellow  and  ask't  him 
how  farr  it  was  to  the  Lane  which  turn'd  down  towards  Guilford. 
Hee  said  wee  must  Ride  a  little  further,  and  turn  down  by  the  Corner 
of  uncle  Sams  Lott.  My  Guide  vented  his  Spleen  at  the  Lubber;  and 
we  soon  after  came  into  the  Rhode,  and  keeping  still  on,  without  any 
thing  further  Remarkabell,  about  two  a  clock  afternoon  we  arrived  at 
New  Haven,  where  I  was  received  with  all  PosibleRespects  and  civility. 
Here  I  discharged  Mr.  Wheeler  with  a  reward  to  his  satisfaction, 
and  took  some  time  to  rest  after  so  long  and  toilsome  a  Journey; 
And  Inform'd  myselfe  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  place,  and 
at  the  same  time  employed  myselfe  in  the  afair  I  went  there  upon. 


WILLIAM  BYRD  113 


WILLIAM  BYRD1 

FROM 

HISTORY  OF  THE  DIVIDING  LINE 

[March  13,  1728.]  Tis  hardly  credible  how  little  the  Bordering 
inhabitants  were  acquainted  with  this  mighty  Swamp,  notwithstand- 
ing they  had  liv'd  their  whole  lives  within  Smell  of  it.  Yet,  as  great 
Strangers  as  they  were  to  it,  they  pretended  to  be  very  exact  in  their 
Account  of  its  Dimensions,  and  were  positive  it  could  not  be  above 
7  or  8  Miles  wide,  but  knew  no  more  of  the  Matter  than  Star-gazers 
know  of  the  Distance  of  the  Fixt  Stars.  At  the  Same  time,  they 
were  Simple  enough  to  amuse  our  Men  with  Idle  Stories  of  the  Lyons, 
Panthers  and  Alligators,  they  were  like  to  encounter  in  that  dreadful 
Place. 

In  short,  we  saw  plainly  there  was  no  Intelligence  of  this  Terra 
Incognita  to  be  got,  but  from  our  own  Experience.  For  that  Reason 
it  was  resolv'd  to  make  the  requisite  Dispositions  to  enter  it  next 
Morning.  We  allotted  every  one  of  the  Surveyors  for  this  painful 
Enterprise,  with  12  Men  to  attend  them.  Fewer  than  that  cou'd 
not  be  employ'd  in  clearing  the  way,  carrying  the  Chain,  mark- 
ing the  Trees,  and  bearing  the  necessary  Bedding  and  Provi- 
sions. Nor  wou'd  the  Commissioners  themselves  have  Spared  their 
Persons  on  this  Occasion,  but  for  fear  of  adding  to  the  poor  men's 
Burthen,  while  they  were  certain  they  cou'd  add  nothing  to  their 
Resolution 

Altho'  there  was  no  need  of  Example  to  inflame  Persons  already 
so  cheerful,  yet  to  enter  the  People  with  better  grace,  the  Author  and 
two  more  of  the  Commissioners  accompanied  them  half  a  Mile  into 
the  Dismal.  The  Skirts  of  it  were  thinly  Planted  with  Dwarf  Reeds 
and  Gall-Bushes,  but  when  we  got  into  the  Dismal  itself,  we  found  the 
Reeds  grew  there  much  taller  and  closer,  and,  to  mend  the  matter  was 
so  interlac'd  with  bamboe-briers,  that  there  was  no  scuffling  thro' 
them  without  the  help  of  Pioneers.  At  the  same  tune,  we  found  the 
Ground  moist  and  trembling  under  our  feet  like  a  Quagmire,  insomuch 

'The  selections  from  Byrd  are  reprinted,  by  permission,  from  the 
copyright  edition  of  his  writings  edited  by  J.  S.  Bassett  and  published  by 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.;  see  Bibliography.  i 


114  AMERICAN  PROSE 


that  it  was  an  easy  Matter  to 'run  a  Ten-Foot-Pole  up  to  the  Head 
in  it,  without  exerting  any  uncommon  Strength  to  do  it. 

Two  of  the  Men,  whose  Burthens  were  the  least  cumbersome,  had 
orders  to  march  before,  with  their  Tomahawks,  and  clear  the  way,  in 
order  to  make  an  Opening  for  the  Surveyors.  By  their  Assistance  we 
made  a  Shift  to  push  the  Line  half  a  Mile  in  3  Hours,  and  then  reacht 
a  small  piece  of  firm  Land,  about  100  Yards  wide,  Standing  up  above 
the  rest  like  an  Island.  Here  the  people  were  glad  to  lay  down  their 
Loads  and  take  a  little  refreshment,  while  the  happy  man,  whose  lot 
it  was  to  carry  the  Jugg  of  Rum,  began  already,  like  Aesop's  Bread- 
Carriers,  to  find  it  grow  a  good  deal  lighter. 

After  reposing  about  an  Hour,  the  Commissioners  recommended 
Vigour  and  Constancy  to  their  Fellow-Travellers,  by  whom  they 
were  answer'd  with  3  Cheerful  Huzzas,  in  Token  of  Obedience.  This 
Ceremony  was  no  sooner  over  but  they  took  up  their  Burthens  and 
attended  the  Motion  of  the  Surveyors,  who,  tho'  they  workt  with  all 
their  might,  could  reach  but  one  Mile  farther,  the  same  obstacles 
still  attending  them  which  they  had  met  with  in  the  Morning. 

However  small  this  distance  may  seem  to  such  as  are  us'd  to 
travel  at  their  Ease,  yet  our  Poor  Men,  who  were  oblig'd  to  work 
with  an  unwieldy  Load  at  their  Backs,  had  reason  to  think  it  a  long 
way;  Especially  in  a  Bogg  where  they  had  no  firm  Footing,  but  every 
Step  made  a  deep  Impression,  which  was  instantly  fill'd  with  Water. 
At  the  same  time  they  were  labouring  with  their  Hands  to  cut  down 
the  Reeds,  which  were  Ten-feet  high,  their  Legs  were  hampered  with 
the  Bryars.  Besides,  the  Weather  happen'd  to  be  very  warm,  and 
the  tallness  of  the  Reeds  kept  off  every  Friendly  Breeze  from  coming 
to  refresh  them.  And,  indeed,  it  was  a  little  provoking  to  hear  the 
Wind  whistling  among  the  Branches  of  the  White  Cedars,  which  grew 
here  and  there  amongst  the  Reeds,  and  at  the  same  time  not  have 
the  Comfort  to  feel  the  least  Breath  of  it. 

In  the  mean  time  the  3  Commissioners  return'd  out  of  the  Dismal 
the  same  way  they  went  in,  and,  having  join'd  their  Brethren,  pro- 
ceeded that  Night  as  far  as  Mr.  Wilson's. 

This  worthy  Person  lives  within  sight  of  the  Dismal,  in  the  Skirts 
whereof  his  Stocks  range  and  Maintain  themselves  all  the  Winter,  and 
yet  he  knew  as  little  of  it  as  he  did  of  Terra  Australis  Incognita.  He 
told  us  a  Canterbury  Tale  of  a  North  Briton,  whose  Curiosity  Spurr'd 


WILLIAM  BYRD  115 


him  a  long  way  into  this  great  Desart,  as  he  call'd  it,  near  20  Years 
ago,  but  he  having  no  Compass,  nor  seeing  the  Sun  for  several  Days 
Together,  wander 'd  about  till  he  was  almost  famisht;  but  at  last  he 
bethought  himself  of  a  Secret  his  Countrymen  make  use  of  to  Pilot 
themselves  in  a  Dark  day. 

He  took  a  fat  Louse  out  of  his  Collar,  and  expos'd  it  to  the  open 
day  on  a  Piece  of  White  Paper,  which  he  brought  along  with  hirh 
for  his  Journal.  The  poor  Insect  having  no  Eye-lids,  turn'd  himself 
about  till  he  found  the  Darkest  Part  of  the  Heavens,  and  so  made 
the  best  of  his  way  towards  the  North.  By  this  Direction  he  Steer'd 
himself  Safe  out,  and  gave  such  a  frightful  account  of  the  Monsters 
he  saw,  and  the  Distresses  he  underwent,  that  no  mortall  Since  has 
been  hardy  enough  to  go  upon  the  like  dangerous  Discovery. 

15.  The  Surveyors  pursued  their  work  with  all  Diligence,  but 
Still  found  the  Soil  of  the  Dismal  so  Spongy  that  the  Water  ouzed 
up  into  every  foot-step  they  took.  To  their  Sorrow,  too,  they  found 
the  Reeds  and  Bryars  more  firmly  interwoven  than  they  did  the  day 
before.  But  the  greatest  Grievance  was  from  large  Cypresses, 
which  the  Wind  had  blown  down  and  heap'd  upon  one  another. 
On  the  Limbs  of  most  of  them  grew  Sharp  Snags,  Pointing  every 
way  like  so  many  Pikes,  that  requir'd  much  Pains  and  Caution  to 
avoid. 

These  Trees  being  Evergreens,  and  Shooting  their  Large  Tops 
Very  high,  are  easily  overset  by  every  Gust  of  Wind,  because  there 
is  no  firm  Earth  to  Steddy  their  Roots.  Thus  many  of  them  were 
laid  prostrate  to  the  great  Encumbrance  of  the  way.  Such  Variety 
of  Difficulties  made  the  Business  go  on  heavily,  insomuch  that,  from 
Morning  till  Night,  the  Line  could  advance  no  further  than  i  Mile 
and  31  Poles.  Never  was  Rum,  that  cordial  of  Life,  found  more 
necessary  than  it  was  in  this  Dirty  Place.  It  did  not  only  recruit 
the  People's  Spirits,  now  almost  Jaded  with  Fatigue,  but  serv'd  to 
correct  the  Badness  of  the  Water,  and  at  the  same  time  to  resist  the 
Malignity  of  the  Air.  Whenever  the  Men  wanted  to  drink,  which 
was  very  often,  they  had  nothing  more  to  do  but  to  make  a  Hole, 
and  the  Water  bubbled  up  in  a  Moment.  But  it  was  far  from  being 
either  clear  or  well  tasted,  and  had  besides  a  Physical  Effect,  from 
the  Tincture  it  receiv'd  from  the  Roots  of  the  Shrubbs  and  Trees 
that  grew  in  the  Neighbourhood 


Il6  AMERICAN  PROSE 


1 7th Since  the  Surveyors  had  enter'd  the  Dismal,  they 

had  laid  Eyes  on  no  living  Creature:  neither  Bird  nor  Beast,  Insect 
nor  Reptile  came  in  View.  Doubtless,  the  Eternal  Shade  that  broods 
over  this  mighty  Bog,  and  hinders  the  sun-beams  from  blessing  the 
Ground,  makes  it  an  uncomfortable  Habitation  for  any  thing  that  has 
life.  Not  so  much  as  a  Zealand  Frog  cou'd  endure  so  Aguish  a 
Situation. 

It  had  one  Beauty,  however,  that  delighted  the  Eye,  tho'  at 
the  Expense  of  all  the  other  Senses:  the  Moisture  of  the  Soil  pre- 
serves a  continual  Verdure,  and  makes  .every  Plant  an  Evergreen, 
but  at  the  same  time  the  foul  Damps  ascend  without  ceasing, 
corrupt  the  Air,  and  render  it  unfit  for  Respiration.  Not  even  a 
Turkey-Buzzard  will  venture  to  fly  over  it,  no  more  than  the  Italian 
Vultures  will  over  the  filthy  Lake  Avernus,  or  the  Birds  in  the 
Holy-Land  over  the  Salt  Sea,  where  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  formerly 
stood. 

In  these  sad  Circumstances,  the  kindest  thing  we  cou'd  do  for 
our  Suffering  Friends  was  to  give  them  a  place  in  the  Litany.  Our 
Chaplain,  for  his  Part,  did  his  Office,  and  rubb'd  us  up  with  a  Season- 
able Sermon.  This  was  quite  a  new  thing  to  our  Brethren  of  North 
Carolina,  who  live  in  a  climate  where  no  clergyman  can  Breathe, 
any  more  than  Spiders  in  Ireland. 

For  want  of  men  in  Holy  Orders,  both  the  Members  of  the  Council 
and  Justices  of  the  Peace  are  empower'd  by  the  Laws  of  that  Country 
to  marry  all  those  who  will  not  take  One  another's  Word;  but  for  the 
ceremony  of  Christening  their  children,  they  trust  that  to  chance. 
If  a  Parson  come  in  their  way,  they  will  crave  a  Cast  of  his  office,  as 
they  call  it,  else  they  are  content  their  Offspring  should  remain  as 
Arrant  Pagans  as  themselves.  They  account  it  among  their  greatest 
advantages  that  they  are  not  Priest-ridden,  not  remembering  that 
the  Clergy  is  rarely  guilty  of  Bestriding  such  as  have  the  misfortune 
to  be  poor. 

One  thing  may  be  said  for  the  Inhabitants  of  that  Province,  that 
they  are  not  troubled  with  any  Religious  Fumes,  and  have  the  least 
Superstition  of  any  People  living.  They  do  not  know  Sunday  from 
any  other  day,  any  more  than  Robinson  Crusoe  did,  which  would 
give  them  a  great  Advantage  were  they  given  to  be  industrious.  But 
they  keep  so  many  Sabbaths  every  week,  that  their  disregard  of  the 


WILLIAM  BYRD  117 


Seventh  Day  has  no  manner  of  cruelty  in  it,  either  to  Servants  or 
Cattle 

19.  We  Ordered  Several  Men  to  Patrole  on  the  Edge  of  the  Dis- 
mal, both  towards  the  North  and  towards  the  South,  and  to  fire  Guns 
at  proper  Distances.  This  they  perform'd  very  punctually,  but 
cou'd  hear  nothing  in  return,  nor  gain  any  Sort  of  Intelligence.  In 
the  mean  time  whole  Flocks  of  Women  and  Children  flew  hither  to 
Stare  at  us,  with  as  much  curiosity  as  if  we  had  lately  Landed  from 
Bantam  or  Morocco.  Some  Borderers,  too,  had  a  great  Mind  to 
know  where  the  Line  wou'd  come  out,  being  for  the  most  part  Appre- 
hensive lest  their  Lands  Should  be  taken  into  Virginia.  In  that  case 
they  must  have  submitted  to  some  Sort  of  Order  and  Government; 
whereas,  in  N  Carolina,  every  One  does  what  seems  best  in  his  own 
Eyes.  There  were  some  good  Women  that  brought  their  children 
to  be  Baptiz'd,  but  brought  no  Capons  along  with  them  to  make 
the  solemnity  cheerful.  In  the  mean  time  it  was  Strange  that  none 
came  to  be  marry'd  in  such  a  Multitude,  if  it  had  only  been  for  the 
Novelty  of  having  their  Hands  Joyn'd  by  one  in  Holy  Orders.  Yet 
so  it  was,  that  tho'  our  chaplain  Christen'd  above  an  Hundred,  he  did 
not  marry  so  much  as  one  Couple  dureing  the  whole  Expedition. 
But  marriage  is  reckon'd  a  Lay  contract  in  Carolina,  as  I  said  before, 
and  a  Country  Justice  can  tie  the  fatal  Knot  there,  as  fast  as  an 
Arch-Bishop. 

None  of  our  Visiters  could,  however,  tell  us  any  News  of  the 
Surveyors,  nor  Indeed  was  it  possible  any  of  them  shou'd  at  that 
time,  They  being  still  laboring  in  the  Midst  of  the  Dismal. 

It  seems  they  were  able  to  carry  the  Line  this  Day  no  further 
than  one  mile  and  61  Poles,  and  that  whole  distance  was  thro'  a 
Miry  cedar  Bogg,  where  the  ground  trembled  under  their  Feet 
most  frightfully.  In  many  places  too  their  Passage  was  retarded 
by  a  great  number  of  fallen  Trees,  that  lay  Horsing  upon  one 
Another. 

Tho'  many  circumstances  concurr'd  to  make  this  an  unwhole- 
some Situation,  yet  the  Poor  men  had  no  time  to  be  sick,  nor  can 
one  conceive  a  more  Calamitous  Case  than  it  would  have  been  to  be 
laid  up  in  that  uncomfortable  Quagmire.  Never  were  Patients  more 
tractable,  or  willing  to  take  Physick,  than  these  honest  Fellows; 
but  it  was  from  a  Dread  of  laying  their  Bones  in  a  Bogg  that  wou'd 


Il8  AMERICAN  PROSE 


soon  spew  them  up  again.    That  Consideration  also  put  them  upon 
more  caution  about  their  Lodging. 

They  first  cover'd  the  Ground  with  Square  Pieces  of  Cypress 
bark,  which  now,  in  the  Spring,  they  cou'd  easily  Slip  off  the  Tree 
for  that  purpose.  On  this  they  Spread  their  Bedding;  but  unhappily 
the  Weight  and  Warmth  of  their  Bodies  made  the  Water  rise  up 
betwixt  the  Joints  of  the  Bark,  to  their  great  Inconvenience.  Thus 
they  lay  not  only  moist,  but  also  exceedingly  cold,  because  their 
Fires  were  continually  going  out.  For  no  sooner  was  the  Trash  upon 
the  Surface  burnt  away,  but  immediately  the  Fire  was  extinguisht 
by  the  Moisture  of  the  Soil,  Insomuch  that  it  was  great  part  of  the 
Centinel's  Business  to  rekindle  it  again  in  a  Fresh  Place,  every  Quarter 
of  an  Hour.  Nor  cou'd  they  indeed  do  their  duty  better,  because 
Cold  was  the  only  Enemy  they  had  to  Guard  against  in  a  miserable 
Morass,  where  nothing  can  inhabit 

21.  The  Surveyors  and  their  Attendants  began  now  in  good 
Earnest  to  be  alarm'd  with  Apprehensions  of  Famine,  nor  could  they 
forbear  looking  with  Some  Sort  of  Appetite  upon  a  dog  that  had 
been  the  faithful  Companion  of  their  Travels. 

Their  Provisions  were  now  near  exhausted.  They  had  this  Morn- 
ing made  the  last  Distribution,  that  so  each  might  Husband  his  small 
Pittance  as  he  pleas'd.  Now  it  was  that  the  fresh  Colour'd  Young 
Man  began  to  tremble  every  Joint  of  Him,  having  dreamed,  the 
Night  before,  that  the  Indians  were  about  to  Barbacue  him  over  live 
coals. 

The  Prospect  of  Famine  determin'd  the  People,  at  last,  with  one 
consent,  to  abandon  the  Line  for  the  Present,  which  advanced  but 
slowly,  and  make  the  best  of  their  way  to  firm  Land.  Accordingly 
they  sat  off  very  early,  and,  by  the  help  of  the  Compass  which  they 
carried  along  with  them,  Steer'd  a  direct  Westwardly  Course.  They 
marcht  from  Morning  till  Night,  and  Computed  their  Journey  to 
amount  to  about  4  Miles,  which  was  a  great  way,  considering  the 
difficulties  of  the  Ground.  It  was  all  along  a  Cedar-Swamp,  so  dirty 
and  perplext,  that  if  they  had  not  travell'd  for  their  Lives,  they  cou'd 
not  have  reacht  so  far. 

On  their  way  they  espied  a  Turkey-Buzzard,  that  flew  prodigi- 
ously high  to  get  above  the  Noisome  Exhalations  that  ascend  from 
that  filthy  place.  This  they  were  willing  to  understand  as  a  good 


WILLIAM  BYRD  IK) 


Omen,  according  to  the  Superstitions  of  the  Ancients,  who  had  great 
Faith  in  the  Flight  of  Vultures.  However,  after  all  this  tedious 
Journey,  they  could  yet  discover  no  End  of  their  toil,  which  made 
them  very  pensive,  especially  after  they  had  eat  the  last  Morsel  of 
their  Provisions.  But  to  their  unspeakable  comfort,  when  all  was 
husht  in  the  Evening,  they  heard  the  Cattle  low,  and  the  Dogs  bark, 
very  distinctly,  which,  to  Men  in  that  distress,  was  more  delightful 
Music  than  Faustina  or  Farinelli  cou'd  have  made.  In  the  mean 
time  the  Commissioners  could  get  no  News  of  them  from  any 
of  their  Visiters,  who  assembled  from  every  Point  of  the  Com- 
pass  

22 In  the  midst  of  our  concern,  we  were  most  agreeably 

surpriz'd,  just  after  Dinner,  with  the  News  that  the  Dismalites  were 
all  Safe.  These  blessed  Tidings  were  brought  to  us  by  Mr.  Swan, 
the  Carolina-Surveyor,  who  came  to  us  in  a  very  tatter 'd  condition. 

After  very  Short  Salutations,  we  got  about  Him  as  if  He  had 
been  a  Hottentot,  and  began  to  Inquire  into  his  Adventures.  He 
gave  us  a  Detail  of  their  uncomfortable  Voyage  thro'  the  Dismal, 
and  told  us,  particularly,  they  had  pursued  their  Journey  early  that 
Morning,  encouraged  by  the  good  Omen  of  seeing  the  Crows  fly  over 
their  Heads;  that,  after  an  Hour's  march  over  very  Rotten  Ground, 
they,  on  a  Sudden,  began  to  find  themselves  among  tall  Pines,  that 
grew  in  the  Water,  which  in  Many  Places  was  Knee-deep.  This 
Pine  Swamp,  into  which  that  of  Coropeak  drain'd  itself,  extended 
near  a  Mile  in  Breadth;  and  tho'  it  was  exceedingly  wet,  yet  it  was 
much  harder  at  Bottom  than  the  rest  of  the  Swamp ;  that  about  Ten  in 
the  Morning,  they  recovered  firm  Land,  which  they  embraced  with  as 
much  Pleasure  as  Shipwreckt  Wretches  do  the  shoar. 

FROM 

A  PROGRESS  TO  THE  MINES 

[September  21,  1732.]  I  was  sorry  in  the  morning  to  find  myself 
stopt  in  my  Career  by  bad  Weather  brought  upon  us  by  a  North- 
East  Wind.  This  drives  a  World  of  Raw  unkindly  Vapours  upon  us 
from  Newfoundland,  loaden  with  Elite,  Coughs,  and  Pleurisys. 
However,  I  complain'd  not,  lest  I  might  be  suspected  to  be  tir'd  of  the 
good  Company.  Tho'  Mrs.  Fleming  was  not  so  much  upon  her 
Guard,  but  mutiny'd  strongly  at  the  Rain,  that  hinder'd  her  from 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


pursuing  her  dear  Husband.  I  said  what  I  cou'd  to  comfort  a  Gentle- 
woman under  so  sad  a  Disappointment.  I  told  her  a  Husband,  that 
staid  so  much  at  Home  as  her's  did,  cou'd  be  no  such  violent  Rarity, 
as  for  a  Woman  to  venture  her  precious  Health,  to  go  daggling  thro' 
the  Rain  after  him,  or  to  be  miserable  if  she  happen 'd  to  be  prevented. 
That  it  was  prudent  for  marry'd  people  to  fast  Sometimes  from  one 
another,  that  they  might  come  together  again  with  the  better  Stomach. 
That  the  best  things  in  this  World,  if  constantly  us'd,  are  apt  to  be 
cloying,  which  a  little  absence  and  Abstinence  wou'd  prevent.  This 
was  Strange  Doctrine  to  a  fond  Female  who  fancys  People  shou'd 
love  with  as  little  Reason  after  Marriage  as  before.  In  the  After- 
noon Monsieur  Marij,  the  Minister  of  the  Parish,  came  to  make  me 
a  Visit.  He  had  been  a  Romish  Priest,  but  found  Reasons,  either 
Spiritual  or  temporal,  to  quit  that  gay  Religion.  The  fault  of  this 
new  Convert  is,  that  he  looks  for  as  much  Respect  from  his  Protestant 
Flock,  as  is  paid  to  the  Popish  Clergy,  which  our  ill-bred  Hugonots 
dont  understand.  Madam  Marij,  had  so  much  Curiosity  as  to  want 
to  come  too;  but  another  Horse  was  wanting,  and  she  believ'd  it 
would  have  too  Vulgar  an  Air  to  ride  behind  her  Husband.  This 
Woman  was  of  the  true  Exchange  Breed,  full  of  Discourse,  but  void 
of  Discretion,  and  marry'd  a  Parson,  with  the  Idle  hopes  he  might 
some  time  or  other  come  to  be  his  Grace  of  Canterbury.  The  Gray 
Mare  is  the  better  Horse  in  that  Family,  and  the  poor  man  Submits  to 
her  wild  Vagarys  for  Peace'  Sake.  She  has  just  enough  of  the  fine 
Lady,  to  run  in  debt,  and  be  of  no  signification  in  her  Household. 
And  the  only  thing  that  can  prevent  her  from  undoing  her  loving 
Husband  will  be,  that  nobody  will  trust  them  beyond  the  16000, 
which  is  soon  run  out  in  a  Goochland  store.  The  way  of  Dealing 
there  is,  for  some  small  Merchant  or  Pedler  to  buy  a  Scots  Penny- 
worth of  Goods,  and  clap  150  p  cent,  upon  that.  At  this  Rate  the 
Parson  cant  be  paid  much  more  for  his  preaching  than  tis  worth.  No 
sooner  was  our  Visiter  retired,  but  the  facetious  Widow  was  so  kind 
as  to  let  me  into  all  this  Secret  History,  but  was  at  the  same  time 
exceedingly  Sorry  that  the  Woman  should  be  so  indiscreet,  and  the 
man  so  tame  as  to  be  govern'd  by  an  unprofitable  and  fantastical  Wife. 
22.  We  had  another  wet  day,  to  try  both  Mrs.  Fleming's  Patience 
and  my  good  Breeding.  The  N  E  Wind  commonly  sticks  by  us  3  or  4 
days,  filling  the  Atmosphere  with  damps,  injurious  both  to  man  and 


WILLIAM  BYRD  121 


Beast.  The  worst  of  it  was,  we  had  no  good  Liquor  to  warm  our 
Blood,  and  fortify  our  Spirits  against  so  strong  a  Malignity.  How- 
ever, I  was  cheerful  under  all  these  Misfortunes,  and  exprest  no  Con- 
cern but  a  decent  Fear  lest  my  long  visit  might  be  troublesome. 
Since  I  was  like  to  have  thus  much  Leizure,  I  endeavour'd  to  find 
out  what  Subject  a  dull  marry'd  man  cou'd  introduce  that  might 
best  bring  the  Widow  to  the  Use  of  her  Tongue.  At  length  I  dis- 
cover'd  she  was  a  notable  Quack,  and  therefore  paid  that  regard  to 
her  Knowledge,  as  to  put  some  Questions  to  her  about  the  bad  dis- 
temper that  raged  then  in  the  Country.  I  mean  the  Bloody  Flux, 
that  was  brought  us  in  the  Negro-ship  consigned  to  Colo.  Braxton. 
She  told  me  she  made  use  of  very  Simple  remedy s  in  that  Case,  with 
very  good  Success.  She  did  the  Business  either  with  Hartshorn 
Drink,  that  had  Plantain  Leaves  boil'd  in  it,  or  else  with  a  Strong 
decoction  of  St.  Andrew's  Cross,  in  New  milk  instead  of  Water.  I 
agreed  with  her  that  those  remedys  might  be  very  good,  but  would 
be  more  effectual  after  a  dose  or  two  of  Indian  Physick.  But  for 
fear  this  Conversation  might  be  too  grave  for  a  Widow,  I  turn'd  the 
discourse,  and  began  to  talk  of  Plays,  &  finding  her  Taste  lay  most 
towards  Comedy,  I  offer'd  my  Service  to  read  one  to  Her,  which  she 
kindly  accepted.  She  produced  the  2d  part  of  the  Beggar's  Opera, 
which  had  diverted  the  Town  for  40  Nights  successively,  and  gain'd 
four  thousand  pounds  to  the  Author.  This  was  not  owing  altogether 
to  the  Wit  or  Humour  that  Sparkled  in  it,  but  to  some  Political 
Reflections,  that  seem'd  to  hit  the  Ministry.  But  the  great  Advan- 
tage of  the  Author  was,  that  his  Interest  was  solicited  by  the  Dutchess 
of  Queensbury,  which  no  man  could  refuse  who  had  but  half  an  Eye 
in  his  head,  or  half  a  Guinea  in  his  Pocket.  Her  Grace,  like  Death, 
spared  nobody,  but  even  took  my  Lord  Selkirk  in  for  2  Guineas,  to 
repair  which  Extravagance  he  liv'd  upon  Scots  Herrings  2  Months 
afterwards.  But  the  best  Story  was,  she  made  a  very  Smart  Officer 
in  his  Majesty's  Guards  give  her  a  Guinea,  who  Swearing  at  the  same 
time  twas  all  he  had  in  the  World,  she  sent  him  50  for  it  the  next  day, 
to  reward  his  Obedience.  After  having  acquainted  my  Company 
with  the  history  of  the  Play,  I  read  3  Acts  of  it,  and  left  Mrs.  Fleming 
and  Mr.  Randolph  to  finish  it,  who  read  as  well  as  most  Actors  do  at 
a  Rehearsal.  Thus  we  kill'd  the  time,  and  triumpht  over  the  bad 
Weather. 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS 
THE  SWEET  GLORY  OF  GOD 

From  my  Childhood  up,  my  Mind  had  been  wont  to  be  full  of 
Objections  against  the  Doctrine  of  GOD's  Sovereignty,  in  choosing 
whom  he  would  to  eternal  Life,  and  rejecting  whom  he  pleased; 
leaving  them  eternally  to  perish,  and  be  everlastingly  tormented  in 
Hell.  It  used  to  appear  like  a  horrible  Doctrine  to  me.  But  I 
remember  the  Time  very  well,  when  I  seemed  to  be  convinced,  and 
fully  satisfied,  as  to  this  Sovereignty  of  God,  and  his  Justice  in  thus 
eternally  disposing  of  Men,  according  to  his  sovereign  Pleasure. 
But  never  could  give  an  Account,  how,  or  by  what  Means,  I  was  thus 
convinced;  not  in  the  least  imagining,  in  the  Time  of  it,  nor  a  long 
Time  after,  that  there  was  any  extraordinary  Influence  of  God's 
Spirit  in  it:  but  only  that  now  I  saw  further,  and  my  Reason  appre- 
hended the  Justice  and  Reasonableness  of  it.  However,  my  Mind 
rested  in  it;  and  it  put  an  end  to  all  those  Cavils  and  Objections,  that 
had  'till  then  abode  with  me,  all  the  preceeding  part  of  my  Life.  And 
there  has  been  a  wonderful  Alteration  in  my  Mind,  with  respect  to 
the  Doctrine  of  God's  Sovereignty,  from  that  Day  to  this:  so  that  I 
scarce  ever  have  found  so  much  as  the  rising  of  an  Objection  against 
God's  Sovereignty,  in  the  most  absolute  Sense,  in  shewing  Mercy  on 
whom  he  will  shew  Mercy,  and  hardening  and  eternally  damning 
whom  he  will.  God's  absolute  Sovereignty,  and  Justice,  with  respect 
to  Salvation  and  Damnation,  is  what  my  Mind  seems  to  rest  assured 
of,  as  much  as  of  any  Thing  that  I  see  with  my  Eyes;  at  least  it  is  so 
at  Times.  But  I  have  often  times  since  that  first  Conviction,  had 
quite  another  Kind  of  Sense  of  God's  Sovereignty,  than  I  had  then. 
I  have  often  since,  not  only  had  a  Conviction,  but  a  delightful  Con- 
viction. The  Doctrine  of  God's  Sovereignty  has  very  often  appeared, 
an  exceeding  pleasant,  bright  and  sweet  Doctrine  to  me:  and 
absolute  Sovereignty  is  what  I  love  to  ascribe  to  God.  But  my  first 
Conviction  was  not  with  this. 

The  first  that  I  remember  that  ever  I  found  any  thing  of  that 
Sort  of  inward,  sweet  Delight  in  GOD  and  divine  Things,  that  I  have 
lived  much  in  since,  was  on  reading  those  Words,  i  Tim.  i.  17:  Now 
unto  the  King  eternal,  immortal,  invisible,  the  only  wise  GOD,  be 
Honor  and  Glory  for  ever  and  ever,  Amen.  As  I  read  the  Words, 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS  123 

there  came  into  my  Soul,  and  was  as  it  were  diffused  thro'  it,  a  Sense 
of  the  Glory  of  the  Divine  Being;  a  new  Sense,  quite  different  from 
any  Thing  I  ever  experienced  before.  Never  any  Words  of  Scripture 
seemed  to  me  as  these  Words  did.  I  thought  with  my  self,  how 
excellent  a  Being  that  was;  and  how  happy  I  should  be,  if  I  might 
enjoy  that  GOD,  and  be  wrapt  up  to  GOD  in  Heaven,  and  be  as  it 
were  swallowed  up  in  Him.  I  kept  saying,  and  as  it  were  singing 
over  these  Words  of  Scripture  to  my  self;  and  went  to  Prayer,  to 
pray  to  GOD  that  I  might  enjoy  him;  and  prayed  in  a  manner  quite 
different  from  what  I  used  to  do;  with  a  new  sort  of  Affection.  But 
it  never  came  into  my  Thought,  that  there  was  any  thing  spiritual,  or 
of  a  saving  Nature  in  this. 

From  about  that  Time,  I  began  to  have  a  new  Kind  of  Appre- 
hensions and  Ideas  of  Christ,  and  the  Work  of  Redemption,  and 
the  glorious  Way  of  Salvation  by  him.  I  had  an  inward,  sweet  Sense 
of  these  Things,  that  at  times  came  into  my  Heart;  and  my  Soul  was 
led  away  in  pleasant  Views  and  Contemplations  of  them.  And  my 
Mind  was  greatly  engaged,  to  spend  my  Time  in  reading  and  medi- 
tating on  Christ;  and  the  Beauty  and  Excellency  of  his  Person, 
and  the  lovely  Way  of  Salvation,  by  free  Grace  in  him.  I  found  no 
Books  so  delightful  to  me,  as  those  that  treated  of  these  Subjects. 
Those  Words  Cant.  ii.  i.  used  to  be  abundantly  with  me:  I  am  the 
Rose  of  Sharon,  the  Lilly  of  the  Valleys.  The  Words  seemed  to  me, 
sweetly  to  represent,  the  Loveliness  and  Beauty  of  Jesus  Christ.  And 
the  whole  Book  of  Canticles  used  to  be  pleasant  to  me;  and  I  used 
to  be  much  in  reading  it,  about  that  time.  And  found,  from  Time 
to  Time,  an  inward  Sweetness,  that  used,  as  it  were,  to  carry  me 
away  in  my  Contemplations;  in  what  I  know  not  how  to  express 
otherwise,  than  by  a  calm,  sweet  Abstraction  of  Soul  from  all  the 
Concerns  of  this  World;  and  a  kind  of  Vision,  or  fix'd  Ideas  and 
Imaginations,  of  being  alone  in  the  Mountains,  or  some  solitary 
Wilderness,  far  from  all  Mankind,  sweetly  conversing  with  Christ, 
and  wrapt  and  swallowed  up  in  GOD.  The  Sense  I  had  of  divine 
Things,  would  often  of  a  sudden,  as  it  were,  kindle  up  a  sweet  burning 
in  my  Heart;  an  ardor  of  Soul,  that  I  know  not  how  to  express. 

Not  long  after  I  first  began  to  experience  these  Things,  I  gave  an 
Account  to  my  Father,  of  some  Things  that  had  pass'd  in  my  Mind. 
I  was  pretty  much  affected  by  the  Discourse  we  had  together.  And 
when  the  Discourse  was  ended,  I  walked  abroad  alone,  in  a  solitary 


124  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Place  in  my  Father's  Pasture,  for  Contemplation.  And  as  I  was 
walking  there,  and  looked  up  on  the  Sky  and  Clouds;  there  came  into 
my  Mind,  a  sweet  Sense  of  the  glorious  Majesty  and  Grace  of  GOD, 
that  I  know  not  how  to  express.  I  seemed  to  see  them  both  hi  a 
sweet  Conjunction:  Majesty  and  Meekness  join'd  together:  it 
was  a  sweet  and  gentle,  and  holy  Majesty;  and  also  a  majestick 
Meekness;  an  awful  Sweetness;  a  high,  and  great,  and  holy  Gentleness. 
After  this  my  Sense  of  divine  Things  gradually  increased,  and 
became  more  and  more  lively,  and  had  more  of  that  inward  Sweetness. 
The  Appearance  of  every  thing  was  altered:  there  seem'd  to  be, 
as  it  were,  a  calm,  sweet  Cast,  or  Appearance  of  divine  Glory,  in 
almost  every  Thing.  God's  Excellency,  his  Wisdom,  his  Purity  and 
Love,  seemed  to  appear  in  every  Thing;  in  the  Sun,  Moon  and  Stars; 
in  the  Clouds,  and  blue  Sky;  in  the  Grass,  Flowers,  Trees;  in  the 
Water,  and  all  Nature;  which  used  greatly  to  fix  my  Mind.  I 
often  used  to  sit  &  view  the  Moon,  for  a  long  Time;  and  so  in  the 
Day-time,  spent  much  time  in  viewing  the  Clouds  &  Sky,  to  behold 
the  sweet  Glory  of  GOD  in  these  Things:  in  the  mean  Time,  singing 
forth  with  a  low  Voice,  my  Contemplations  of  the  Creator  &  Re- 
deemer. And  scarce  any  Thing,  among  all  the  Works  of  Nature,  was 
so  sweet  to  me  as  Thunder  and  Lightning.  Formerly,  nothing 
had  been  so  terrible  to  me.  I  used  to  be  a  Person  uncommonly  terri- 
fied with  Thunder:  and  it  used  to  strike  me  with  Terror,  when  I  saw 
a  Thunder-storm  rising.  But  now,  on  the  contrary,  it  rejoyced  me. 
I  felt  GOD  at  the  first  Appearance  of  a  Thunder  storm.  And  used  to 
take  the  Opportunity  at  such  Times,  to  fix  my  self  to  view  the  Clouds, 
and  see  the  Lightnings  play,  and  hear  the  majestick  &  awful  Voice 
of  God's  Thunder:  which  often  times  was  exceeding  entertaining, 
leading  me  to  sweet  Contemplations  of  my  great  and  glorious  GOD. 
And  while  I  viewed,  used  to  spend  my  time,  as  it  always  seem'd 
natural  to  me,  to  sing  or  chant  forth  my  Meditations;  to  speak  my 
Thoughts  in  Soliloquies,  and  speak  with  a  singing  Voice. 

FROM 
SINNERS  IN  THE  HANDS  OF  AN  ANGRY  GOD 

The  USE  may  be  of  Awakning  to  unconverted  Persons  in  this 
Congregation.  This  that  you  have  heard  is  the  Case  of  every  one 
of  you  that  are  out  of  Christ.  That  World  of  Misery,  that  Lake  of 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS  125 

burning  Brimstone,  is  extended  abroad  under  you.  There  is  the 
dreadful  Pit  of  the  glowing  Flames  of  the  Wrath  of  God;  there  is 
Hell's  wide  gaping  Mouth  open;  and  you  have  nothing  to  stand 
upon,  nor  any  Thing  to  take  hold  of:  There  is  nothing  between  you 
and  Hell  but  the  Air;  'tis  only  the  Power  and  mere  Pleasure  of  God 
that  holds  you  up. 

You  probably  are  not  sensible  of  this;  you  find  you  are  kept  out  of 
Hell,  but  don't  see  the  Hand  of  God  in  it,  but  look  at  other  Things, 
as  the  good  State  of  your  bodily  Constitution,  your  Care  of  your  own 
Life,  and  the  Means  you  use  for  your  own  Preservation.  But  indeed 
these  Things  are  nothing;  if  God  should  withdraw  his  Hand,  they 
would  avail  no  more  to  keep  you  from  falling,  than  the  thin  Air  to 
hold  up  a  Person  that  is  suspended  in  it. 

Your  Wickedness  makes  you  as  it  were  heavy  as  Lead,  and  to 
tend  downwards  with  great  Weight  and  Pressure  towards  Hell; 
and,  if  God  should  let  you  go,  you  would  immediately  sink,  and 
swiftly  descend  and  plunge  into  the  bottomless  Gulf;  and  your 
healthy  Constitution,  and  your  own  Care  and  Prudence,  and  best 
Contrivance,  and  all  your  Righteousness,  would  have  no  more 
Influence  to  uphold  you  and  keep  you  out  of  Hell,  than  a  Spider's 
Web  would  have  to  stop  a  falling  Rock.  Were  it  not  that  so  is  the 
sovereign  Pleasure  of  God,  the  Earth  would  not  bear  you  one  Moment; 
for  you  are  a  Burden  to  it;  the  Creation  grones  with  you;  the  Crea- 
ture is  made  subject  to  the  Bondage  of  your  Corruption,  not  willingly; 
the  Sun  don't  willingly  shine  upon  you,  to  give  you  Light  to  serve 
Sin  and  Satan;  the  Earth  don't  willingly  yield  her  Increase  to  satisfy 
your  Lusts,  nor  is  it  willingly  a  Stage  for  your  Wickedness  to  be 
acted  upon;  the  Air  don't  willingly  serve  you  for  Breath  to  maintain 
the  Flame  of  Life  in  your  Vitals,  while  you  spend  your  Life  in  the 
Service  of  God's  Enemies.  God's  Creatures  are  good,  and  were  made 
for  Men  to  serve  God  with,  and  don't  willingly  subserve  to  any  other 
Purpose,  and  grone  when  they  are  abused  to  Purposes  so  directly 
contrary  to  their  Nature  and  End:  And  the  World  would  spue  you 
out,  were  it  not  for  the  sovereign  Hand  of  him  who  hath  subjected 
it  in  Hope.  There  are  the  black  Clouds  of  God's  Wrath  now  hanging 
directly  over  your  Heads,  full  of  the  dreadful  Storm,  and  big  with 
Thunder;  and,  were  it  not  for  the  restraining  Hand  of  God,  it  would 
immediately  burst  forth  upon  you.  The  sovereign  Pleasure  of  God 


126  AMERICAN  PROSE 


for  the  present  stays  his  rough  Wind;  otherwise  it  would  come  with 
Fury,  and  your  Destruction  would  come  like  a  Whirlwind,  and  you 
would  be  like  the  Chaff  of  the  Summer  Threshing-floor. 

The  Wrath  of  God  is  like  great  Waters  that  are  dammed  for  the 
present;  they  increase  more  and  more,  and  rise  higher  and  higher, 
till  an  Outlet  is  given;  and  the  longer  the  Stream  is  stopt,  the  more 
rapid  and  mighty  is  its  Course  when  once  it  is  let  loose.  'Tis  true,  that 
Judgment  against  your  evil  Works  has  not  been  executed  hitherto; 
the  Floods  of  God's  Vengeance  have  been  withheld;  but  your  Guilt 
in  the  mean  Time  is  constantly  increasing,  and  you  are  every  Day 
treasuring  up  more  Wrath;  the  Waters  are  continually  rising,  and 
waxing  more  and  more  mighty;  and  there  is  nothing  but  the  mere 
Pleasure  of  God  that  holds  the  Waters  back  that  are  unwilling  to  be 
stopt,  and  press  hard  to  go  forward;  if  God  should  only  withdraw  his 
Hand  from  the  Flood-gate,  it  would  immediately  fly  open,  and  the 
fiery  Floods  of  the  Fierceness  and  Wrath  of  God  would  rush  forth  with 
inconceivable  Fury,  and  would  come  upon  you  with  omnipotent 
Power;  and  if  your  Strength  were  Ten  thousand  Times  greater  than 
it  is,  yea  Ten  thousand  Times  greater  than  the  Strength  of  the  stoutest, 
sturdiest  Devil  in  Hell,  it  would  be  nothing  to  withstand  or  endure  it. 

The  Bow  of  God's  Wrath  is  bent,  and  the  Arrow  made  ready  on 
the  String;  and  Justice  bends  the  Arrow  at  your  Heart,  and  strains 
the  Bow;  and  it  is  nothing  but  the  mere  Pleasure  of  God,  and  that 
of  an  angry  God,  without  any  Promise  or  Obligation  at  all,  that  keeps 
the  Arrow  one  Moment  from  being  made  drunk  with  your  Blood. 

Thus  are  all  you  that  never  passed  under  a  great  Change  of 
Heart,  by  the  mighty  Power  of  the  SPIRIT  of  GOD  upon  your  Souls; 
all  that  were  never  born  again,  and  made  new  Creatures,  and  raised 
from  being  dead  in  Sin,  to  a  State  of  new,  and  before  altogether  unex- 
perienced Light  and  Life,  (however  you  may  have  reformed  your 
Life  in  many  Things,  and  may  have  had  religious  Affections,  and 
may  keep  up  a  Form  of  Religion  in  your  Families  and  Closets,  and 
in  the  House  of  God,  and  may  be  strict  in  it)  you  are  thus  in  the 
Hands  of  an  angry  God;  'tis  nothing  but  his  mere  Pleasure  that 
keeps  you  from  being  this  Moment  swallowed  up  in  everlasting 
Destruction. 

However  unconvinced  you  may  now  be  of  the  Truth  of  what  you 
hear,  by  and  by  you  will  be  fully  convinced  of  it.  Those  that  are  gone 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS  127 

from  being  in  the  like  Circumstances  with  you,  see  that  it  was  so  with 
them;  for  Destruction  came  suddenly  upon  most  of  them,  when  they 
expected  nothing  of  it,  and  while  they  were  saying,  Peace  and  Safety: 
Now  they  see,  that  those  Things  that  they  depended  on  for  Peace 
and  Safety,  were  nothing  but  thin  Air  and  empty  Shadows. 

The  God  that  holds  you  over  the  Pit  of  Hell,  much  as  one  holds  a 
Spider  or  some  lothsom  Insect  over  the  Fire,  abhors  you,  and  is 
dreadfully  provoked;  his  Wrath  towards  you  burns  like  Fire;  he 
looks  upon  you  as  worthy  of  nothing  else  but  to  be  cast  into  the  Fire; 
he  is  of  purer  Eyes  than  to  bear  to  have  you  in  his  Sight;  you  are 
Ten  thousand  Times  so  abominable  in  his  Eyes  as  the  most  hateful 
venomous  Serpent  is  in  ours.  You  have  offended  him  infinitely 
more  than  ever  a  stubborn  Rebel  did  his  Prince;  and  yet  'tis  nothing 
but  his  Hand  that  holds  you  from  falling  into  the  Fire  every  Moment : 
'Tis  to  be  ascribed  to  nothing  else,  that  you  did  not  go  to  Hell  the  last 
Night;  that  you  was  suffered  to  awake  again  in  this  World,  after 
you  closed  your  Eyes  to  sleep:  And  there  is  no  other  Reason  to  be 
given  why  you  have  not  dropt  into  Hell  since  you  arose  in  the  Morn- 
ing, but  that  God's  Hand  has  held  you  up:  There  is  no  other  Reason 
to  be  given  why  you  han't  gone  to  Hell  since  you  have  sat  here  in  the 
House  of  God,  provoking  his  pure  Eyes  by  your  sinful  wicked  Manner 
of  attending  his  solemn  Worship;  yea,  there  is  nothing  else  that  is  to 
be  given  as  a  Reason  why  you  don't  this  very  Moment  drop  down  into 
Hell. 

O  Sinner!  Consider  the  fearful  Danger  you  are  in:  'Tis  a  great 
Furnace  of  Wrath,  a  wide  and  bottomless  Pit,  full  of  the  Fire  of 
Wrath,  that  you  are  held  over  in  the  Hand  of  that  God,  whose 
Wrath  is  provoked  and  incensed  as  much  against  you  as  against 
many  of  the  Damned  in  Hell:  You  hang  by  a  slender  Threed,  with 
the  Flames  of  Divine  Wrath  flashing  about  it,  and  ready  every 
Moment  to  singe  it,  and  burn  it  asunder;  and  you  have  no  Interest 
in  any  Mediator,  and  nothing  to  lay  hold  of  to  save  yourself,  nothing 
to  keep  off  the  Flames  of  Wrath,  nothing  of  your  own,  nothing  that 
you  ever  have  done,  nothing  that  you  can  do,  to  induce  God  to  spare 
you  one  Moment.  .... 

How  dreadful  is  the  State  of  those  that  are  daily  and  hourly  in 
Danger  of  this  great  Wrath,  and  infinite  Misery!  But  this  is  the 
dismal  Case  of  every  Soul  in  this  Congregation  that  has  not  been  born 


128  AMERICAN  PROSE 


again,  however  moral  and  strict,  sober  and  religious  they  may  other- 
wise be.  Oh  that  you  would  consider  it,  whether  you  be  Young  or 
Old!  There  is  Reason  to  think,  that  there  are  many  in  this  Congre- 
gation, now  hearing  this  Discourse,  that  will  actually  be  the  Subjects 
of  this  very  Misery  to  all  Eternity.  We  know  not  who  they  are,  or 
in  what  Seats  they  sit,  or  what  Thoughts  they  now  have:  It  may 
be  they  are  now  at  Ease,  and  hear  all  these  Things  without  much 
Disturbance,  and  are  now  flattering  themselves  that  they  are  not  the 
Persons,  promising  themselves  that  they  shall  escape.  If  we  knew 
that  there  was  one  Person,  and  but  one,  in  the  whole  Congregation 
that  was  to  be  the  Subject  of  this  Misery,  what  an  awful  Thing  would 
it  be  to  think  of!  If  we  knew  who  it  was,  what  an  awful  Sight  would 
it  be  to  see  such  a  Person!  How  might  all  the  rest  of  the  Congre- 
gation lift  up  a  lamentable  and  bitter  Cry  over  him!  But  alas! 
Instead  of  one,  how  many  is  it  likely  will  remember  this  Discourse 
in  Hell  ?  And  it  would  be  a  Wonder  if  some  that  are  now  present 
should  not  be  in  Hell  in  a  very  short  Time,  before  this  Year  is  out ;  and 
it  would  be  no  Wonder  if  some  Person  that  now  sits  here  in  some 
Seat  of  this  Meeting-House  in  Health,  and  quiet  and  secure,  should 
be  there  before  To-Morrow  Morning.  Those  of  you  that  finally 
continue  in  a  natural  Condition,  that  shall  keep  out  of  Hell  longest, 
will  be  there  in  a  little  Time!  your  Damnation  don't  slumber;  it  will 
come  swiftly,  and  in  all  Probability  very  suddenly  upon  many  of  you. 
You  have  Reason  to  wonder,  that  you  are  not  already  in  Hell.  'Tis 
doubtless  the  Case  of  some  that  heretofore  you  have  seen  and  known, 
that  never  deserved  Hell  more  than  you,  and  that  heretofore  appeared 
as  likely  to  have  been  now  alive  as  you:  Their  Case  is  past  all  Hope; 
they  are  crying  in  extreme  Misery  and  perfect  Despair:  But  here  you 
are  in  the  Land  of  the  Living,  and  in  the  House  of  God,  and  have  an 
Opportunity  to  obtain  Salvation.  What  would  not  those  poor 
damned,  hopeless  Souls  give  for  one  Day's  such  Opportunity  as  you 
now  enjoy! 

FROM 

ENQUIRY  INTO  THE  FREEDOM  OF  THE  WILL 

A  Great  Argument  for  Self -determining  Power,  is  the  supposed 
Experience  we  universally  have  of  an  Ability  to  determine  our  Wills, 
in  Cases  wherein  no  prevailing  Motive  is  presented:  The  Will  (as  is 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS  129 

supposed)  has  it's  Choice  to  make  between  two  or  more  Things,  that 
are  perfectly  equal  in  the  View  of  the  Mind;  and  the  Will  is  appar- 
ently altogether  indifferent;  and  yet  we  find  no  Difficulty  in  coming 
to  a  Choice;  the  Will  can  instantly  determine  it  self  to  one,  by  a 
sovereign  Power  which  it  has  over  it  self,  without  being  moved  by  any 
preponderating  Inducement. 

Thus  the  forementioned  Author  of  an  Essay  on  the  Freedom  of  the 
Witt  &c.  P.  25,  26,  27,  supposes,  "That  there  are  many  Instances, 
wherein  the  Will  is  determined  neither  by  present  Uneasiness,  nor 
by  the  greatest  apparent  Good,  nor  by  the  last  Dictate  of  the  Under- 
standing, nor  by  any  Thing  else,  but  meerly  by  it  self,  as  a  Sovereign 
Self-determining  Power  of  the  Soul;  and  that  the  Soul  does  not  will 
this  or  that  Action,  in  some  Cases,  by  any  other  Influence,  but 
because  it  will.  Thus  (says  he)  I  can  turn  my  Face  to  the  South,  or 
the  North;  I  can  point  with  my  Finger  upward,  or  downward. — 
And  thus,  in  some  Cases,  the  Will  determines  it  self  in  a  very  sover- 
eign Manner,  because  it  will,  without  a  Reason  borrowed  from  the 
Understanding:  and  hereby  it  discovers  it's  own  perfect  Power  of 
Choice,  rising  from  within  it  self,  and  free  from  all  Influence  or 
Restraint  of  any  Kind."  And  in  Pages  66,  70,  &  73,  74.  This 
Author  very  expresly  supposes  the  Will  in  many  Cases  to  be  deter- 
mined by  no  Motive  at  all,  and  acts  altogether  without  Motive,  or  Ground 
of  Preference.  Here  I  would  observe, 

i.  The  very  Supposition  which  is  here  made,  directly  contra- 
dicts and  overthrows  it  self.  For  the  Thing  supposed,  wherein  this 
grand  Argument  consists,  is,  That  among  several  Things  the  Will 
actually  chuses  one  before  another,  at  the  same  Time  that  it  is  per- 
fectly indifferent;  which  is  the  very  same  Thing  as  to  say,  the  Mind 
has  a  Preference,  at  the  same  Tune  that  it  has  no  Preference.  What 
is  meant  can't  be,  that  the  Mind  is  indifferent  before  it  comes  to  have 
a  Choice,  or  'till  it  has  a  Preference;  or,  which  is  the  same  Thing, 
that  the  Mind  is  indifferent  until  it  comes  to  be  not  indiffer- 
ent. For  certainly  this  Author  did  not  suppose  he  had  a  Con- 
troversy with  any  Person  in  supposing  this.  And  then  it  is  Nothing 
to  his  Purpose,  that  the  Mind  which  chuses,  was  indifferent  once; 
unless  it  chuses,  remaining  indifferent ;  for  otherwise,  it  don't  chuse  at 
all  in  that  Case  of  Indifference,  concerning  which  is  all  the  Question. 
Besides,  it  appears  in  Fact,  that  the  Thing  which  this  Author  supposes, 


130  AMERICAN  PROSE 


is  not  that  the  Will  chuses  one  Thing  before  another,  concern- 
ing which  it  is  indifferent  before  it  chuses;  but  also  is  indifferent 
when  it  chuses;  and  that  it's  being  otherwise  than  indifferent  is  not 
'till  afterwards,  in  Consequence  of  it's  Choice;  that  the  chosen 
Thing's  appearing  preferable  and  more  agreable  than  another,  arises 
from  it's  Choice  already  made.  His  Words  are  (P.  30.)  "Where 
the  Objects  which  are  proposed,  appear  equally  fit  or  good,  the  Will 
is  left  without  a  Guide  or  Director;  and  therefore  must  make  it's 
own  Choice,  by  it's  own  Determination;  it  being  properly  a  Self- 
determining  Power.  And  in  such  Cases  the  Will  does  as  it  were  make 
a  Good  to  it  self  by  it's  own  Choice,  i.  e.  creates  it's  own  Pleasure  or 
Delight  in  this  Self-chosen  Good.  Even  as  a  Man  by  seizing  upon  a 
Spot  of  unoccupied  Land,  in  an  uninhabited  Country,  makes  it  his  own 
Possession  and  Property,  and  as  such  rejoyces  in  it.  Where  Things 
were  indifferent  before,  the  Will  finds  Nothing  to  make  them  more 
agreable,  considered  meerly  in  themselves;  but  the  Pleasure  it  feels 
ARISING  FROM  IT'S  OWN  CHOICE,  and  it's  Perseverance 
therein.  We  love  many  Things  which  we  have  chosen,  AND 
PURELY  BECAUSE  WE  CHOSE  THEM." 

This  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  we  first  begin  to  prefer  many 
Things,  now  ceasing  any  longer  to  be  indifferent  with  Respect  to 
them,  purely  because  we  have  prefer'd  and  chosen  them  before. — 
These  Things  must  needs  be  spoken  inconsiderately  by  this  Author. 
Choice  or  Preference  can't  be  before  it  self,  in  the  same  Instance, 
either  in  the  Order  of  Time  or  Nature:  It  can't  be  the  Foundation 
of  it  self,  or  the  Fruit  or  Consequence  of  it  self.  The  very  Act  of 
chusing  one  Thing  rather  than  another,  is  preferring  that  Thing,  and 
that  is  setting  a  higher  Value  on  that  Thing.  But  that  the  Mind 
sets  an  higher  Value  on  one  Thing  than  another,  is  not,  in  the  first 
Place,  the  Fruit  of  it's  setting  a  higher  Value  on  that  Thing. 

This  Author  says,  P.  36,  "The  Will  may  be  perfectly  indiffer- 
ent, and  yet  the  Will  may  determine  it  self  to  chuse  one  or  the  other." 
And  again  in  the  same  Page,  "I  am  entirely  indifferent  to  either;  and 
yet  my  Will  may  determine  it  self  to  chuse."  And  again,  "Which 
I  shall  chuse  must  be  determined  by  the  meer  Act  of  my  Will."  If  the 
Choice  is  determined  by  a  meer  Act  of  Will,  then  the  Choice  is  de- 
termined by  a  meer  Act  of  Choice.  And  concerning  this  Matter,  viz. 
that  the  Act  of  the  Will  it  self  is  determined  by  an  Act  of  Choice,  this 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS  131 

Writer  is  express,  in  P.  72.  Speaking  of  the  Case,  where  there  is  no 
superiour  Fitness  in  Objects  presented,  he  has  these  Words:  "There  it 
mus:  act  by  it's  own  CHOICE,  and  determine  it  self  as  it  PLEASES." 
Where  it  is  supposed  that  the  very  Determination,  which  is  the  Ground 
and  Spring  of  the  Will's  Act,  is  an  Act  of  Choice  and  Pleasure,  wherein 
one  Act  is  more  agreable,  and  the  Mind  better  pleased  in  it  than 
another;  and  this  Preference,  and  superiour  Pleased/ness  is  the  Ground 
of  all  it  does  in  the  Case.  And  if  so,  the  Mind  is  not  indifferent 
when  it  determines  it  self,  but  had  rather  do  one  Thing  than  another, 
had  rather  determine  it  self  one  Way  than  another.  And  therefore 
the  Will  don't  act  at  all  in  Indifference;  not  so  much  as  in  the  first 
Step  it  takes,  or  the  first  Rise  and  Beginning  of  it's  acting.  If  it  be 
possible  for  the  Understanding  to  act  in  Indifference,  yet  to  be  sure 
the  Will  never  does;  because  the  Will's  beginning  to  act  is  the  very 
same  Thing  as  it's  beginning  to  chuse  or  prefer.  And  if  in  the 
very  first  Act  of  the  Will,  the  Mind  prefers  something,  then  the 
Idea  of  that  Thing  prefer 'd,  does  at  that  Time  preponderate,  or 
prevail  in  the  Mind;  or,  which  is  the  same  Thing,  the  Idea  of  it  has 
a  prevailing  Influence  on  the  Will.  So  that  this  wholly  destroys  the 
Thing  supposed,  viz.  That  the  Mind  can  by  a  sovereign  Power  chuse 
one  of  two  or  more  Things,  which  in  the  View  of  the  Mind  are,  in 
every  Respect,  perfectly  equal,  one  of  which  does  not  at  all  preponder- 
ate, nor  has  any  prevailing  Influence  on  the  Mind  above  another. 

So  that  this  Author,  in  his  grand  Argument  for  the  Ability  of 
the  Will  to  chuse  one  of  two,  or  more  Things,  concerning  which  it  is 
perfectly  indifferent,  does  at  the  same  Time,  in  Effect,  deny  the 
Thing  he  supposes,  and  allows  and  asserts  the  Point  he  endeavours 
to  overthrow ;  even  that  the  Will,  in  chusing,  is  subject  to  no  prevailing 
Influence  of  the  Idea,  or  View  of  the  Thing  chosen.  And  indeed  it  is 
impossible  to  offer  this  Argument  without  overthrowing  it;  the 
Thing  supposed  in  it  being  inconsistent  with  it  self,  and  that  which 
denies  it  self.  To  suppose  the  Will  to  act  at  all  in  a  State  of  perfect 
Indifference,  either  to  determine  it  self,  or  to  do  any  Thing  else,  is  to 
assert  that  the  Mind  chuses  without  chusing.  To  say  that  when  it  is 
indifferent,  it  can  do  as  it  pleases,  is  to  say  that  it  can  follow  it's 
Pleasure,  when  it  has  no  Pleasure  to  follow.  And  therefore  if  there 
be  any  Difficulty  in  the  Instances  of  two  Cakes,  or  two  Eggs  &c.  which 
are  exactly  alike,  one  as  good  as  another;  concerning  which  this 


132  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Author  supposes  the  Mind  in  Fact  has  a  Choice,  and  so  in  Effect 
supposes  that  it  has  a  Preference;  it  as  much  concern'd  Himself  to 
solve  the  Difficulty,  as  it  does  those  whom  he  opposes.  For  if  these 
Instances  prove  any  Thing  to  his  Purpose,  they  prove  that  a  Man 
chuses  without  Choice.  And  yet  this  is  not  to  his  Purpose;  because 
if  this  is  what  he  asserts,  his  own  Words  are  as  much  against  him, 
and  do  as  much  contradict  him,  as  the  Words  of  those  he  disputes 
against  can  do. 

2.  There  is  no  great  Difficulty  in  shewing,  in  such  Instances  as 
are  alledged,  not  only  that  it  must  needs  be  so,  that  the  Mind  must 
be  influenced  in  it's  Choice  by  something  that  has  a  preponderat- 
ing Influence  upon  it,  but  also  how  it  is  so.  A  little  Attention  to 
our  own  Experience,  and  a  distinct  Consideration  of  the  Acts 
of  our  own  Minds  in  such  Cases,  will  be  sufficient  to  clear  up  the 
Matter. 

Thus,  supposing  I  have  a  Chess-board  before  me;  and  because 
I  am  required  by  a  Superiour,  or  desired  by  a  Friend,  or  to  make 
some  Experiment  concerning  my  own  Ability  and  Liberty,  or  on  some 
other  Consideration,  I  am  determined  to  touch  some  one  of  the 
Spots  or  Squares  on  the  Board  with  my  Finger;  not  being  limited  or 
directed  in  the  first  Proposal,  or  my  own  first  Purpose,  which  is  general, 
to  any  one  in  particular;  and  there  being  nothing  in  the  Squares  in 
themselves  considered,  that  recommends  any  one  of  all  the  sixty 
four,  more  than  another:  In  this  Case,  my  Mind  determines  to  give 
it  self  up  to  what  is  vulgarly  called  Accident,  by  determining  to  touch 
that  Square  which  happens  to  be  most  in  View,  which  my  Eye  is 
especially  upon  at  that  Moment,  or  which  happens  then  to  be  most  in 
my  Mind,  or  which  I  shall  be  directed  to  by  some  other  such-like 
Accident.  Here  are  several  Steps  of  the  Mind's  proceeding  (tho' 
all  may  be  done  as  it  were  in  a  Moment) :  the  first  Step  is  it's  general 
Determination  that  it  will  touch  one  of  the  Squares.  The  next  Step 
is  another  general  Determination  to  give  it  self  up  to  Accident,  in 
some  certain  Way;  as  to  touch  that  which  shall  be  most  in  the  Eye 
or  Mind  at  that  Time,  or  to  some  other  such-like  Accident.  The  third 
and  last  Step  is  a  particular  Determination  to  touch  a  certain  indi- 
vidual Spot,  even  that  Square,  which,  by  that  Sort  of  Accident  the 
Mind  has  pitched  upon,  has  actually  offered  it  self  beyond  others. 
Now  'tis  apparent  that  in  none  of  these  several  Steps  does  the  Mind 


JOHN  WOOLMAN  133 


proceed  in  absolute  Indifference,  but  in  each  of  them  is  influenced  by 
a  preponderating  Inducement.  So  it  is  in  the  first  Step;  The  Mind's 
general  Determination  to  touch  one  of  the  sixty  four  Spots:  The 
Mind  is  not  absolutely  indifferent  whether  it  does  so  or  no:  It  is 
induced  to  it,  for  the  Sake  of  making  some  Experiment,  or  by  the 
Desire  of  a  Friend,  or  some  other  Motive  that  prevails.  So  it  is  in 
the  second  Step,  The  Mind's  determining  to  give  it  self  up  to  Accident, 
by  touching  that  which  shall  be  most  in  the  Eye,  or  the  Idea  of  which 
shall  be  most  prevalent  in  the  Mind  &c.  The  Mind  is  not  absolutely 
indifferent  whether  it  proceeds  by  this  Rule  or  no;  but  chuses  it, 
because  it  appears  at  that  Time  a  convenient  and  requisite  Expedient 
in  order  to  fulfil  the  general  Purpose  aforesaid.  And  so  it  is  in  the 
third  and  last  Step,  It's  determining  to  touch  that  individual  Spot 
which  actually  does  prevail  in  the  Mind's  View.  The  Mind  is  not 
indifferent  concerning  this;  but  is  influenced  by  a  prevailing  Induce- 
ment and  Reason;  which  is,  that  this  is  a  Prosecution  of  the  preceed- 
ing  Determination,  which  appeared  requisite,  and  was  fix'd  before  in 
the  second  Step. 


JOHN  WOOLMAN 

FROM 

THE  JOURNAL 


Two  things  were  remarkable  to  me  in  this  journey:  first,  in  regard 
to  my  entertainment;  when  I  eat,  drank,  and  lodged  free-cost  with 
people,  who  lived  in  ease  on  the  hard  labour  of  their  slaves,  I  felt 
uneasy;  and  as  my  mind  was  inward  to  the  Lord,  I  found,  from  place 
to  place,  this  uneasiness  return  upon  me,  at  times,  through  the  whole 
visit.  Where  the  masters  bore  a  good  share  of  the  burthen,  and 
lived  frugally,  so  that  their  servants  were  well  provided  for,  and  their 
labour  moderate,  I  felt  more  easy;  but  where  they  lived  in  a  costly 
way,  and  laid  heavy  burthens  on  their  slaves,  my  exercise  was  often 
great,  and  I  frequently  had  conversation  with  them,  in  private,  con- 
cerning it.  Secondly:  this  trade  of  importing  slaves  from  their 
native  country  being  much  encouraged  amongst  them,  and  the  white 
people  and  their  children  so  generally  living  without  much  labour, 


134  AMERICAN  PROSE 


was  frequently  the  subject  of  my  serious  thoughts:  and  I  saw  in  these 
southern  provinces  so  many  vices  and  corruptions,  increased  by  this 
trade  and  this  way  of  life,  that  it  appeared  to  me  as  a  dark  gloominess 
hanging  over  the  land;  and  though  now  many  willingly  run  into  it, 
yet  in  future  the  consequence  will  be  grievous  to  posterity:  I  express 
it  as  it  hath  appeared  to  me,  not  at  once,  nor  twice,  but  as  a  matter 
fixed  on  my  mind. 

RELIGIOUS   SCRUPLES  AGAINST  DYED   GARMENTS 

From  my  early  acquaintance  with  truth,  I  have  often  felt  an 
inward  distress,  occasioned  by  the  striving  of  a  spirit  in  me,  against 
the  operation  of  the  heavenly  principle;  and  hi  this  circumstance  have 
been  affected  with  a  sense  of  my  own  wretchedness,  and  in  a  mourn- 
ing condition  felt  earnest  longing  for  that  divine  help,  which  brings  the 
soul  into  true  liberty;  and  sometimes  in  this  state,  retiring  into  private 
places,  the  spirit  of  supplication  hath  been  given  me;  and  under  a 
heavenly  covering,  have  asked  my  gracious  Father,  to  give  me  a  heart 
in  all  things  resigned  to  the  direction  of  his  wisdom,  and  in  uttering 
language  like  this,  the  thoughts  of  my  wearing  hats  and  garments 
dyed  with  a  dye  hurtful  to  them,  has  made  lasting  impressions 
on  me. 

In  visiting  people  of  note  in  the  society  who  had  slaves,  and 
labouring  with  them  in  brotherly  love  on  that  account,  I  have  seen, 
and  the  sight  has  affected  me,  that  a  conformity  to  some  customs, 
distinguishable  from  pure  wisdom,  has  entangled  many;  and  the 
desire  of  gain  to  support  these  customs,  greatly  opposed  the  work  of 
truth:  and  sometimes  when  the  prospect  of  the  work  before  me  has 
been  such,  that  in  bowedness  of  spirit,  I  have  been  drawn  into  retired 
places,  and  besought  the  Lord  with  tears  that  he  would  take  me 
wholly  under  his  direction,  and  shew  me  the  way  in  which  I  ought  to 
walk;  it  hath  revived  with  strength  of  conviction,  that  if  I  would 
be  bis  faithful  servant,  I  must  in  all  things  attend  to  his  wisdom,  and 
be  teachable;  and  so  cease  from  all  customs  contrary  thereto,  however 
used  amongst  religious  people. 

As  he  is  the  perfection  of  power,  of  wisdom,  and  of  goodness;  so 
I  believe,  he  hath  provided,  that  so  much  labour  shall  be  necessary 
for  men's  support,  in  this  world,  as  would,  being  rightly  divided,  be  a 


JOHN  WOOLMAN  135 


suitable  employment  of  their  time;  and  that  we  cannot  go  into  super- 
fluities, or  grasp  after  wealth  in  a  way  contrary  to  his  wisdom,  without 
having  connection  with  some  degree  of  oppression,  and  with  that 
spirit  which  leads  to  self-exaltation  and  strife,  and  which  frequently 
brings  calamities  on  countries,  by  parties  contending  about  their 
claims. 

Being  thus  fully  convinced,  and  feeling  an  increasing  desire  to 
live  in  the  spirit  of  peace;  being  often  sorrowfully  affected  with  the 
thinking  on  the  unquiet  spirit  in  which  wars  are  generally  carried  on, 
and  with  the  miseries  of  many  of  my  fellow-creatures  engaged  therein; 
some  suddenly  destroyed;  some  wounded,  and  after  much  pain 
remain  cripples;  some  deprived  of  all  their  outward  substance, 
and  reduced  to  want;  and  some  carried  into  captivity.  Thinking 
often  on  these  things,  the  use  of  hats  and  garments  dyed  with  a  dye 
hurtful  to  them,  and  wearing  more  clothes  in  summer  than  are  useful, 
grew  more  uneasy  to  me,  believing  them  to  be  customs  which  have  not 
their  foundation  in  pure  wisdom.  The  apprehension  of  being  singular 
from  my  beloved  friends,  was  a  strait  upon  me;  and  thus  I  remained 
in  the  use  of  some  things  contrary  to  my  judgment. 

On  the  thirty-first  day  of  the  fifth  month,  1761,  I  was  taken  ill 
of  a  fever;  and,  after  having  it  near  a  week,  I  was  in  great  distress  of 
body:  and  one  day  there  was  a  cry  raised  in  me,  that  I  might  under- 
stand the  cause  why  I  was  afflicted,  and  improve  under  it:  and  my 
conformity  to  some  customs,  which  I  believed  were  not  right,  were 
brought  to  my  remembrance;  and  in  the  continuation  of  this  exercise, 
I  felt  all  the  powers  in  me  yield  themselves  up  into  the  hands  of  Him 
who  gave  me  being;  and  was  made  thankful,  that  he  had  taken  hold 
of  me  by  his  chastisement:  feeling  the  necessity  of  further  purifying, 
there  was  now  no  desire  in  me  for  health,  until  the  design  of  my  cor- 
rection was  answered;  and  thus  I  lay  in  abasement  and  brokenness 
of  spirit,  and  as  I  felt  a  sinking  down  into  a  calm  resignation,  so  I  felt, 
as  in  an  instant,  an  inward  healing  in  my  nature;  and  from  that  time 
forward  I  grew  better. 

Though  I  was  thus  settled  in  my  mind  hi  relation  to  hurtful  dyes, 
I. felt  easy  to  wear  my  garments  heretofore  made;  and  so  continued 
about  nine  months.  Then  I  thought  of  getting  a  hat  the  natural 
colour  of  the  furr;  but  the  apprehension  of  being  looked  upon  as 
one  affecting  singularity,  felt  uneasy  to  me:  and  here  I  had  occasion 


136  AMERICAN  PROSE 


to  consider,  that  things,  though  small  in  themselves,  being  clearly 
enjoined  by  divine  authority,  became  great  things  to  us;  and  I 
trusted  that  the  Lord  would  support  me  in  the  trials  that  might  attend 
singularity,  while  that  singularity  was  only  for  his  sake:  on  this 
account,  I  was  under  close  exercise  of  mind  in  the  time  of  our  General 
spring  meeting  1762,  greatly  desiring  to  be  rightly  directed;  when 
being  deeply  bowed  in  spirit  before  the  Lord,  I  was  made  willing  to 
submit  to  what  I  apprehended  was  required  of  me;  and  when  I 
returned  home,  got  a  hat  of  the  natural  colour  of  the  furr. 

In  attending  meetings,  this  singularity  was  a  trial  upon  me,  and 
more  especially  at  this  time,  white  hats  being  used  by  some  who  were 
fond  of  following  the  changeable  modes  of  dress;  and  as  some  friends, 
who  knew  not  on  what  motives  I  wore  it,  carried  shy  of  me,  I  felt  my 
way  for  a  tune  shut  up  hi  the  exercise  of  the  ministry:  and  in  this  con- 
dition, my  mind  being  turned  toward  my  heavenly  Father,  with  fervent 
cries  that  I  might  be  preserved  to  walk  before  him  in  the  meekness 
of  wisdom,  my  heart  was  often  tender  in  meetings;  and  I  felt  an 
inward  consolation,  which  to  me  was  very  precious  under  those 
difficulties. 

I  had  several  dyed  garments  fit  for  use,  which  I  believed  it  best  to 
wear,  till  I  had  occasion  of  new  ones:  and  some  friends  were  appre- 
hensive, that  my  wearing  such  a  hat  savoured  of  an  affected  singu- 
larity: and  such  who  spake  with  me  in  a  friendly  way,  I  generally 
informed  in  a  few  words,  that  I  believed  my  wearing  it,  was  not  in  my 
own  will.  I  had,  at  times,  been  sensible,  that  a  superficial  friendship 
had  been  dangerous  to  me;  and  many  friends  being  now  uneasy  with 
me,  I  had  an  inclination  to  acquaint  some  with  the  manner  of  my 
being  led  into  these  things;  yet,  upon  a  deeper  thought,  I  was  for  a 
time  most  easy  to  omit  it,  believing  the  present  dispensation  was 
profitable ;  and  trusting,  that  if  I  kept  my  place,  the  Lord  in  his  own 
time  would  open  the  hearts  of  friends  toward  me:  since  which,  I  have 
had  cause  to  admire  his  goodness  and  loving-kindness,  in  leading 
about  and  instructing,  and  opening  and  enlarging  my  heart  in  some 
of  our  meetings. 

A   SPIRITUAL  VISION 

In  a  time  of  sickness  with  the  pleurisy,  a  little  upward  of  two 
years  and  a  half  ago,  I  was  brought  so  near  the  gates  of  death,  that 


JOHN  WOOLMAN  137 


I  forgot  my  name:  being  then  desirous  to  know  who  I  was,  I  saw  a 
mass  of  matter  of  a  dull  gloomy  colour,  between  the  south  and  the 
east;  and  was  informed,  that  this  mass  was  human  beings  in  as  great 
misery  as  they  could  be,  and  live;  and  that  I  was  mixed  in  with  them, 
and  that  henceforth  I  might  not  consider  myself  as  a  distinct  or 
separate  being.  In  this  state  I  remained  several  hours.  I  then 
heard  a  soft  melodious  voice,  more  pure  and  harmonious  than  any 
I  had  heard  with  my  ears  before;  I  believed  it  was  the  voice  of  an 
angel,  who  spake  to  the  other  angels:  the  words  were — John  Woolman 
is  dead.  I  soon  remembered  that  I  once  was  John  Woolman;  and 
being  assured  that  I  was  alive  in  the  body,  I  greatly  wondered  what 
that  heavenly  voice  could  mean. 

I  believed,  beyond  doubting,  that  it  was  the  voice  of  an  holy 
angel;  but,  as  yet,  it  was  a  mystery  to  me. 

I  was  then  carried  in  spirit  to  the  mines,  where  poor  oppressed 
people  were  digging  rich  treasures  for  those  called  Christians;  and 
heard  them  blaspheme  the  name  of  Christ,  at  which  I  was  grieved; 
for  his  name  to  me  was  precious. 

Then  I  was  informed,  that  these  heathen  were  told,  that  those 
who  oppressed  them  were  the  followers  of  Christ;  and  they  said 
amongst  themselves,  If  Christ  directed  them  to  use  us  in  this  sort,  then 
Christ  is  a  cruel  tyrant. 

All  this  time  the  song  of  the  angel  remained  a  mystery;  and  in 
the  morning,  my  dear  wife  and  some  others  coming  to  my  bedside, 
I  asked  them,  if  they  knew  who  I  was:  and  they  telling  me,  I  was 
John  Woolman,  thought  I  was  light-headed:  for  I  told  them  not  what 
the  angel  said,  nor  was  I  disposed  to  talk  much  to  any  one;  but  was 
very  desirous  to  get  so  deep,  that  I  might  understand  this  mystery. 

My  tongue  was  often  so  dry,  that  I  could  not  speak  till  I  had 
moved  it  about  and  gathered  some  moisture,  and  as  I  lay  still  for  a 
time,  at  length  I  felt  divine  power  prepare  my  mouth  that  I  could 
speak;  and  then  I  said,  "I  am  crucified  with  Christ,  nevertheless 
I  live;  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  that  liveth  in  me:  and  the  life  I  now  live 
in  the  flesh,  is  by  faith  in  the  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me,  and  gave 
himself  for  me." 

Then  the  mystery  was  opened;  and  I  perceived  there  was  joy  in 
heaven  over  a  sinner  who  had  repented ;  and  that  that  language  (John 
Woolman  is  dead}  meant  no  more  than  the  death  of  my  own  will. 


138  AMERICAN  PROSE 


].  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVECCEUR 
LETTERS  FROM  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER 

FROM 
LETTER  HI.      WHAT  IS  AN  AMERICAN? 

I  wish  I  could  be  acquainted  with  the  feelings  and  thoughts  which 
must  agitate  the  heart  and  present  themselves  to  the  mind  of  an 
enlightened  Englishman,  when  he  first  lands  on  this  continent.  He 
must  greatly  rejoice  that  he  lived  at  a  time  to  see  this  fair  country 
discovered  and  settled;  he  must  necessarily  feel  a  share  of  national 
pride,  when  he  views  the  chain  of  settlements  which  embellishes  these 
extended  shores.  When  he  says  to  himself,  this  is  the  work  of  my 
countrymen,  who,  when  convulsed  by  factions,  afflicted  by  a  variety 
of  miseries  and  wants,  restless  and  impatient,  took  refuge  here.  They 
brought  along  with  them  their  national  genius,  to  which  they  prin- 
cipally owe  what  liberty  they  enjoy,  and  what  substance  they  possess. 
Here  he  sees  the  industry  of  his  native  country  displayed  in  a  new 
manner,  and  traces  in  their  works  the  embrios  of  all  the  arts,  sciences, 
and  ingenuity  which  flourish  in  Europe.  Here  he  beholds  fair  cities, 
substantial  villages,  extensive  fields,  an  immense  country  filled  with 
decent  houses,  good  roads,  orchards,  meadows,  and  bridges,  where 
an  hundred  years  ago  all  was  wild,  woody  and  uncultivated!  What 
a  train  of  pleasing  ideas  this  fair  spectacle  must  suggest;  it  is  a  pros- 
pect which  must  inspire  a  good  citizen  with  the  most  heartfelt  pleasure. 
The  difficulty  consists  in  the  manner  of  viewing  so  extensive  a  scene. 
He  is  arrived  on  a  new  continent;  a  modern  society  offers  itself  to 
his  contemplation,  different  from  what  he  had  hitherto  seen.  It  is  not 
composed,  as  in  Europe,  of  great  lords  who  possess  every  thing,  and 
of  a  herd  of  people  who  have  nothing.  Here  are  no  aristocratical 
families,  no  courts,  no  kings,  no  bishops,  no  ecclesiastical  dominion, 
no  invisible  power  giving  to  a  few  a  very  visible  one;  no  great  manu- 
facturers employing  thousands,  no  great  refinements  of  luxury. 
The  rich  and  the  poor  are  not  so  far  removed  from  each  other  as  they 
are  in  Europe.  Some  few  towns  excepted,  we  are  all  tillers  of  the 
earth,  from  Nova  Scotia  to  West  Florida.  We  are  a  people  of  culti- 
vators, scattered  over  an  immense  territory,  communicating  with 
each  other  by  means  of  good  roads  and  navigable  rivers,  united  by 


/.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVEC(EUR  139 

the  silken  bands  of  mild  government,  all  respecting  the  laws,  without 
dreading  their  power,  because  they  are  equitable.  We  are  all  ani- 
mated with  the  spirit  of  an  industry  which  is  unfettered  and  unre- 
strained, because  each  person  works  for  himself.  If  he  travels 
through  our  rural  districts  he  views  not  the  hostile  castle,  and  the 
haughty  mansion,  contrasted  with  the  clay-built  hut  and  miserable 
cabbin,  where  cattle  and  men  help  to  keep  each  other  warm,  and 
dwell  in  meanness,  smoke,  and  indigence.  A  pleasing  uniformity  of 
decent  competence  appears  throughout  our  habitations.  The  mean- 
est of  our  log-houses  is  a  dry  and  comfortable  habitation.  Lawyer 
or  merchant  are  the  fairest  titles  our  towns  afford;  that  of  a  farmer 
is  the  only  appellation  of  the  rural  inhabitants  of  our  country.  It 
must  take  some  time  ere  he  can  reconcile  himself  to  our  dictionary, 
which  is  but  short  in  words  of  dignity,  and  names  of  honour.  There, 
on  a  Sunday,  he  sees  a  congregation  of  respectable  farmers  and  their 
wives,  all  clad  in  neat  homespun,  well  mounted,  or  riding  in  their 
own  humble  waggons.  There  is  not  among  them  an  esquire,  saving 
the  unlettered  magistrate.  There  he  sees  a  parson  as  simple  as  his 
flock,  a  farmer  who  does  not  riot  on  the  labour  of  others.  We  have 
no  princes,  for  whom  we  toil,  starve,  and  bleed:  we  are  the  most 
perfect  society  now  existing  in  the  world.  Here  man  is  free  as  he 
ought  to  be;  nor  is  this  pleasing  equality  so  transitory  as  many  others 
are.  Many  ages  will  not  see  the  shores  of  our  great  lakes  replenished 
with  inland  nations,  nor  the  unknown  bounds  of  North  America 
entirely  peopled.  Who  can  tell  how  far  it  extends?  Who  can  tell 
the  millions  of  men  whom  it  will  feed  and  contain  ?  for  no  European 
foot  has  as  yet  travelled  half  the  extent  of  this  mighty  continent! 

The  next  wish  of  this  traveller  will  be  to  know  whence  came  all 
these  people  ?  they  are  a  mixture  of  English,  Scotch,  Irish,  French, 
Dutch,  Germans,  and  Swedes.  From  this  promiscuous  breed,  that 
race  now  called  Americans  have  arisen.  The  eastern  provinces  must 
indeed  be  excepted,  as  being  the  unmixed  descendents  of  Englishmen. 
I  have  heard  many  wish  that  they  had  been  more  intermixed  also: 
for  my  part,  I  am  no  wisher,  and  think  it  much  better  as  it  has  hap- 
pened. They  exhibit  a  most  conspicuous  figure  in  this  great  and 
variegated  picture;  they  too  enter  for  a  great  share  in  the  pleasing 
perspective  displayed  in  these  thirteen  provinces.  I  know  it  is 
fashionable  to  reflect  on  them,  but  I  respect  them  for  what  they  have 


140  AMERICAN  PROSE 


done;  for  the  accuracy  and  wisdom  with  which  they  have  settled 
their  territory;  for  the  decency  of  their  manners;  for  their  early  love 
of  letters;  their  ancient  college,  the  first  in  this  hemisphere;  for  their 
industry;  which  to  me  who  am  but  a  farmer,  is  the  criterion  of  every- 
thing. There  never  was  a  people,  situated  as  they  are,  who  with  so 
ungrateful  a  soil  have  done  more  in  so  short  a  time.  Do  you  think 
that  the  monarchical  ingredients  which  are  more  prevalent  in  other 
governments,  have  purged  them  from  all  foul  stains  ?  Their  histories 
assert  the  contrary, 

In  this  great  American  asylum,  the  poor  of  Europe  have  by  some 
means  met  together,  and  in  consequence  of  various  causes;  to  what 
purpose  should  they  ask  one  another  what  countrymen  they  are? 
Alas,  two  thirds  of  them  had  no  country.  Can  a  wretch  who  wanders 
about,  who  works  and  starves,  whose  life  is  a  continual  scene  of  sore 
affliction  or  pinching  penury;  can  that  man  call  England  or  any  other 
kingdom  his  country  ?  A  country  that  had  no  bread  for  him,  whose 
fields  procured  him  no  harvest,  who  met  with  nothing  but  the  frowns 
of  the  rich,  the  severity  of  the  laws,  with  jails  and  punishments;  who 
owned  not  a  single  foot  of  the  extensive  surface  of  this  planet  ?  No! 
urged  by  a  variety  of  motives,  here  they  came.  Every  thing  has 
tended  to  regenerate  them;  new  laws,  a  new  mode  of  living,  a  new 
social  system;  here  they  are  become  men:  in  Europe  they  were  as 
so  many  useless  plants,  wanting  vegitative  mould,  and  refreshing 
showers;  they  withered,  and  were  mowed  down  by  want,  hunger, 
and  war;  but  now  by  the  power  of  transplantation,  like  all  other 
plants  they  have  taken  root  and  flourished!  Formerly  they  were 
not  numbered  in  any  civil  lists  of  their  country,  except  in  those  of 
the  poor;  here  they  rank  as  citizens.  By  what  invisible  power  has 
this  surprising  metamorphosis  been  performed?  By  that  of  the 
laws  and  that  of  their  industry.  The  laws,  the  indulgent  laws,  pro- 
tect them  as  they  arrive,  stamping  on  them  the  symbol  of  adoption; 
they  receive  ample  rewards  for  their  labours;  these  accumulated 
rewards  procure  them  lands;  those  lands  confer  on  them  the  title  of 
freemen,  and  to  that  title  every  benefit  is  affixed  which  men  can 
possibly  require.  This  is  the  great  operation  daily  performed  by  our 
kws.  From  whence  proceed  these  laws?  From  our  government. 
Whence  the  government  ?  It  is  derived  from  the  original  genius  and 
strong  desire  of  the  people  ratified  and  confirmed  by  the  crown. 


J.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVECCEUR  141 

This  is  the  great  chain  which  links  us  all,  this  is  the  picture  which 
every  province  exhibits,  Nova  Scotia  excepted.  There  the  crown 
has  done  all;  either  there  were  no  people  who  had  genius,  or  it  was 
not  much  attended  to:  the  consequence  is,  that  the  province  is  very 
thinly  inhabited  indeed;  the  power  of  the  crown  in  conjunction 
with  the  musketos  has  prevented  men  from  settling  there.  Yet  some 
parts  of  it  flourished  once,  and  it  contained  a  mild  harmless  set  of 
people.  But  for  the  fault  of  a  few  leaders,  the  whole  were  banished. 
The  greatest  political  error  the  crown  ever  committed  in  America, 
was  to  cut  off  men  from  a  country  which  wanted  nothing  but  men! 
What  attachment  can  a  poor  European  emigrant  have  for  a 
country  where  he  had  nothing  ?  The  knowledge  of  the  language,  the 
love  of  a  few  kindred  as  poor  as  himself,  were  the  only  cords  that  tied 
him:  his  country  is  now  that  which  gives  him  land,  bread,  protection, 
and  consequence:  Ubi  panis  ibi  patria,  is  the  motto  of  all  emigrants. 
What  then  is  the  American,  this  new  man  ?  He  is  either  an  European, 
or  the  descendant  of  an  European,  hence  that  strange  mixture  of 
blood,  which  you  will  find  in  no  other  country.  I  could  point  out 
to  you  a  family  whose  grandfather  was  an  Englishman,  whose  wife 
was  Dutch,  whose  son  married  a  French  woman,  and  whose  present 
four  sons  have  now  four  wives  of  different  nations.  He  is  an  Ameri- 
can, who  leaving  behind  him  all  his  ancient  prejudices  and  manners, 
receives  new  ones  from  the  new  mode  of  life  he  has  embraced,  the 
new  government  he  obeys,  and  the  new  rank  he  holds.  He  becomes 
an  American  by  being  received  in  the  broad  lap  of  our  great  Alma 
Mater.  Here  individuals  of  all  nations  are  melted  into  a  new  race 
of  men,  whose  labours  and  posterity  will  one  day  cause  great  changes 
in  the  world.  Americans  are  the  western  pilgrims,  who  are  carrying 
along  with  them  that  great  mass  of  arts,  sciences,  vigour,  and  indus- 
try which  began  long  since  in  the  east ;  they  will  finish  the  great  circle. 
The  Americans  were  once  scattered  all  over  Europe;  here  they  are 
incorporated  into  one  of  the  finest  systems  of  population  which  has 
ever  appeared,  and  which  will  hereafter  become  distinct  by  the  power 
of  the  different  climates  they  inhabit.  The  American  ought  there- 
fore to  love  this  country  much  better  than  that  wherein  either  he 
or  his  forefathers  were  born.  Here  the  rewards  of  his  industry  follow 
with  equal  steps  the  progress  of  his  labour;  his  labour  is  founded  on 
the  basis  of  nature,  self-interest;  can  it  want  a  stronger  allurement  ? 


142  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Wives  and  children,  who  before  in  vain  demanded  of  him  a  morsel  of 
bread,  now,  fat  and  frolicsome,  gladly  help  their  father  to  clear  those 
fields  whence  exuberant  crops  are  to  arise  to  feed  and  to  clothe  them 
all;  without  any  part  being  claimed,  either  by  a  despotic  prince,  a 
rich  abbot,  or  a  mighty  lord.  Here  religion  demands  but  little  of 
him;  a  small  voluntary  salary  to  the  minister,  and  gratitude  to  God; 
can  he  refuse  these?  The  American  is  a  new  man,  who  acts  upon 
new  principles;  he  must  therefore  entertain  new  ideas,  and  form  new 
opinions.  From  involuntary  idleness,  servile  dependence,  penury, 
and  useless  labour,  he  has  passed  to  toils  of  a  very  different  nature, 
rewarded  by  ample  subsistence. — This  is  an  American. 

LETTER  X.      ON  SNAKES;  AND   ON  THE  HUMMING  BIRD. 

Why  would  you  prescribe  this  task;  you  know  that  what  we 
take  up  ourselves  seems  always  lighter  than  what  is  imposed  on  us 
by  others.  You  insist  on  my  saying  something  about  our  snakes; 
and  in  relating  what  I  know  concerning  them,  were  it  not  for  two 
singularities,  the  one  of  which  I  saw,  and  the  other  I  received  from 
an  eye-witness,  I  should  have  but  very  little  to  observe.  The  south- 
ern provinces  are  the  countries  where  nature  has  formed  the  greatest 
variety  of  alligators,  snakes,  serpents;  and  scorpions,  from  the 
smallest  size,  up  to  the  pine  barren,  the  largest  species  known  here. 
We  have  but  two,  whose  stings  are  mortal,  which  deserve  to  be  men- 
tioned; as  for  the  black  one,  it  is  remarkable  for  nothing  but  its 
industry,  agility,  beauty,  and  the  art  of  inticing  birds  by  the  power  of 
its  eyes.  I  admire  it  much,  and  never  kill  it,  though  its  formidable 
length  and  appearance  often  get  the  better  of  the  philosophy  of  some 
people,  particularly  of  Europeans.  The  most  dangerous  one  is  the 
pilot,  or  copperhead;  for  the  poison  of  which  no  remedy  has  yet  been 
discovered.  It  bears  the  first  name  because  it  always  precedes  the 
rattlesnake;  that  is,  quits  its  state  of  torpidity  in  the  spring  a  week 
before  the  other.  It  bears  the  second  name  on  account  of  its  head 
being  adorned  with  many  copper-coloured  spots.  It  lurks  in  rocks 
near  the  water,  and  is  extremely  active  and  dangerous.  Let  man 
beware  of  it!  I  have  heard  only  of  one  person  who  was  stung  by  a 
copperhead  in  this  country.  The  poor  wretch  instantly  swelled  in 
a  most  dreadful  manner;  a  multitude  of  spots  of  different  hues 


J.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVECCEUR  143 

alternately  appeared  and  vanished,  on  different  parts  of  his  body; 
his  eyes  were  filled  with  madness  and  rage,  he  cast  them  on  all  present 
with  the  most  vindictive  looks:  he  thrust  out  his  tongue  as  the 
snakes  do;  he  hissed  through  his  teeth  with  inconceivable  strength, 
and  became  an  object  of  terror  to  all  bye-standers.  To  the  lividness 
of  a  corpse  he  united  the  desperate  force  of  a  maniac;  they  hardly 
were  able  to  fasten  him,  so  as  to  guard  themselves  from  his  attacks; 
when  in  the  space  of  two  hours  death  relieved  the  poor  wretch  from 
his  struggles,  and  the  spectators  from  their  apprehensions.  The 
poison  of  the  rattle-snake  is  not  mortal  in  so  short  a  space,  and  hence 
there  is  more  time  to  procure  relief;  we  are  acquainted  with  several 
antidotes  with  which  almost  every  family  is  provided.  They  are 
extremely  inactive,  and  if  not  touched,  are  perfectly  inoffensive. 
I  once  saw,  as  I  was  travelling,  a  great  cliff  which  was  full  of  them; 
I  handled  several,  and  they  appeared  to  be  dead;  they  were  all 
entwined  together,  and  thus  they  remain  until  the  return  of  the  sun. 
I  found  them  out,  by  following  the  track  of  some  wild  hogs  which 
had  fed  on  them;  and  even  the  Indians  often  regale  on  them.  When 
they  find  them  asleep,  they  put  a  small  forked  stick  over  their  necks, 
which  they  keep  immoveably  fixed  on  the  ground;  giving  the  snake 
a  piece  of  leather  to  bite:  and  this  they  pull  back  several  tunes  with 
great  force,  until  they  observe  their  two  poisonous  fangs  torne  out. 
Then  they  cut  off  the  head,  skin  the  body,  and  cook  it  as  we  do  eels; 
and  their  flesh  is  extremely  sweet  and  white.  I  once  saw  a  tamed  one, 
as  gentle  as  you  can  possibly  conceive  a  reptile  to  be;  it  took  to  the 
water  and  swam  whenever  it  pleased;  and  when  the  boys  to  whom  it 
belonged  called  it  back,  their  summons  was  readily  obeyed.  It  had 
been  deprived  of  its  fangs  by  the  preceding  method;  they  often  stroked 
it  with  a  soft  brush,  and  this  friction  seemed  to  cause  the  most  pleasing 
sensations,  for  it  would  turn  on  its  back  to  enjoy  it,  as  a  cat  does 
before  the  fire.  One  of  this  species  was  the  cause,  some  years  ago, 
of  a  most  deplorable  accident  which  I  shall  relate  to  you,  as  I  had  it 
from  the  widow  and  mother  of  the  victims.  A  Dutch  farmer  of  the 
Minisink  went  to  mowing,  with  his  negroes,  in  his  boots,  a  precaution 
used  to  prevent  being  stung.  Inadvertently  he  trod  on  a  snake, 
which  immediately  flew  at  his  legs;  and  as  it  drew  back  in  order  to 
renew  its  blow,  one  of  his  negroes  cut  it  in  two  with  his  scythe.  They 
prosecuted  their  work,  and  returned  home;  at  night  the  farmer 


144  AMERICAN  PROSE 


pulled  off  his  boots  and  went  to  bed;  and  was  soon  after  attacked  with 
a  strange  sickness  at  his  stomach;  he  swelled,  and  before  a  physician 
could  be  sent  for,  died.  The  sudden  death  of  this  man  did  not  cause 
much  inquiry;  the  neighbourhood  wondered,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases, 
and  without  any  further  examination  the  corpse  was  buried.  A  few 
days  after,  the  son  put  on  his  father's  boots,  and  went  to  the  meadow ; 
at  night  he  pulled  them  off,  went  to  bed,  and  was  attacked  with  the 
same  symptoms  about  the  same  tune,  and  died  in  the  morning.  A 
little  before  he  expired  the  doctor  came,  but  was  not  able  to  assign 
what  could  be  the  cause  of  so  singular  a  disorder;  however,  rather 
than  appear  wholly  at  a  loss  before  the  country  people,  he  pronounced 
both  father  and  son  to  have  been  bewitched.  Some  weeks  after,  the 
widow  sold  all  the  moveables  for  the  benefit  of  the  younger  children; 
and  the  farm  was  leased.  One  of  the  neighbours,  who  bought  the 
boots,  presently  put  them  on,  and  was  attacked  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  other  two  had  been;  but  this  man's  wife  being  alarmed  by 
what  had  happened  in  the  former  family,  dispatched  one  of  her 
negroes  for  an  eminent  physician,  who  fortunately  having  heard 
something  of  the  dreadful  affair,  guessed  at  the  cause,  applied  oil, 
&c.  and  recovered  the  man.  The  boots  which  had  been  so  fatal,  were 
then  carefully  examined;  and  he  found  that  the  two  fangs  of  the 
snake  had  been  left  in  the  leather,  after  being  wrenched  out  of  their 
sockets  by  the  strength  with  which  the  snake  had  drawn  back  its 
head.  The  bladders  which  contained  the  poison,  and  several  of  the 
small  nerves  were  still  fresh,  and  adhered  to  the  boot.  The  unfortu- 
nate father  and  son  had  been  poisoned  by  pulling  off  these  boots,  in 
which  action  they  imperceptibly  scratched  their  legs  with  the  points 
of  the  fangs,  through  the  hollow  of  which,  some  of  this  astonishing 
poison  was  conveyed.  You  have  no  doubt  heard  of  their  rattles, 
if  you  have  not  seen  them;  the  only  observation  I  wish  to  make  is, 
that  the  rattling  is  loud  and  distinct  when  they  are  angry ;  and  on  the 
contrary,  when  pleased,  it  sounds  like  a  distant  trepidation,  in  which 
nothing  distinct  is  heard.  In  the  thick  settlements,  they  are  now 
become  very  scarce;  for  wherever  they  are  met  with,  open  war  is 
declared  against  them;  so  that  in  a  few  years  there  will  be  none  left 
but  on  our  mountains.  The  black  snake  on  the  contrary,  always 
diverts  me  because  it  excites  no  idea  of  danger.  Their  swiftness  is 
astonishing;  they  will  sometimes  equal  that  of  an  horse;  at  other 


/.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVECCEUR  145 

times  they  will  climb  up  trees  in  quest  of  our  tree  toads;  or  glide  on 
the  ground  at  full  length.  On  some  occasions  they  present  them- 
selves half  in  the  reptile  state,  half  erect;  their  eyes  and  their  heads 
in  the  erect  posture,  appear  to  great  advantage:  the  former  display 
a  fire  which  I  have  often  admired,  and  it  is  by  these  they  are  enabled 
to  fascinate  birds  and  squirrels.  When  they  have  fixed  their  eyes 
on  an  animal,  they  become  immoveable;  only  turning  their  head 
sometimes  to  the  right  and  sometimes  to  the  left,  but  still  with  their 
sight  invariably  directed  to  the  object.  The  distracted  victim, 
instead  of  flying  its  enemy,  seems  to  be  arrested  by  some  invincible 
power;  it  screams;  now  approaches,  and  then  recedes;  and  after 
skipping  about  with  unaccountable  agitation,  finally  rushes  into  the 
jaws  of  the  snake,  and  is  swallowed,  as  soon  as  it  is  covered  with 
a  slime  or  glue  to  make  it  slide  easily  down  the  throat  of  the 
devourer. 

One  anecdote  I  must  relate,  the  circumstances  of  which  are  as  true 
as  they  are  singular.  One  of  my  constant  walks  when  I  am  at  leisure, 
is  in  my  lowlands,  where  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  cattle, 
horses,  and  colts.  Exuberant  grass  replenishes  all  my  fields,  the 
best  representative  of  our  wealth;  in  the  middle  of  that  track  I  have 
cut  a  ditch  eight  feet  wide,  the  banks  of  which  nature  adorns  every 
spring  with  the  wild  salendine,  and  other  flowering  weeds,  which 
on  these  luxuriant  grounds  shoot  up  to  a  great  height.  Over  this 
ditch  I  have  erected  a  bridge,  capable  of  bearing  a  loaded  waggon; 
on  each  side  I  carefully  sow  every  year,  some  grains  of  hemp,  which 
rise  to  the  height  of  fifteen  feet,  so  strong  and  so  full  of  limbs  as  to 
resemble  young  trees:  I  once  ascended  one  of  them  four  feet  above 
the  ground.  These  produce  natural  arbours,  rendered  often  still 
more  compact  by  the  assistance  of  an  annual  creeping  plant  which  we 
call  a  vine,  that  never  fails  to  entwine  itself  among  their  branches, 
and  always  produces  a  very  desirable  shade.  From  this  simple  grove 
I  have  amused  myself  an  hundred  tunes  in  observing  the  great  number 
of  humming  birds  with  which  our  country  abounds:  the  wild  blos- 
soms every  where  attract  the  attention  of  these  birds,  which  like 
bees  subsist  by  suction.  From  this  retreat  I  distinctly  watch  them 
in  all  their  various  attitudes;  but  their  flight  is  so  rapid,  that  you 
cannot  distinguish  the  motion  of  their  wings.  On  this  little  bird 
nature  has  profusely  lavished  her  most  splendid  colours;  the  most 


146  AMERICAN  PROSE 


perfect  azure,  the  most  beautiful  gold,  the  most  dazzling  red,  are  for 
ever  in  contrast,  and  help  to  embellish  the  plumes  of  his  majestic 
head.  The  richest  pallet  of  the  most  luxuriant  painter,  could  never 
invent  any  thing  to  be  compared  to  the  variegated  tints,  with  which 
this  insect  bird  is  arrayed.  Its  bill  is  as  long  and  as  sharp  as  a  coarse 
sewing  needle;  like  the  bee,  nature  has  taught  it  to  find  out  in  the 
calix  of  flowers  and  blossoms,  those  mellifluous  particles  that  serve 
it  for  sufficient  food;  and  yet  it  seems  to  leave  them  untouched, 
undeprived  of  any  thing  that  our  eyes  can  possibly  distinguish. 
When  it  feeds,  it  appears  as  if  immoveable,  though  continually  on 
the  wing;  and  sometimes,  from  what  motives  I  know  not,  it  will  tear 
and  lacerate  flowers  into  a  hundred  pieces:  for,  strange  to  tell,  they 
are  the  most  irascible  of  the  feathered  tribe.  Where  do  passions 
find  room  in  so  diminutive  a  body  ?  They  often  fight  with  the  fury 
of  lions,  until  one  of  the  combatants  falls  a  sacrifice  and  dies.  When 
fatigued,  it  has  often  perched  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  and  on  such 
favourable  opportunities  I  have  surveyed  it  with  the  most  minute 
attention.  Its  little  eyes  appear  like  diamonds,  reflecting  light  on 
every  side:  most  elegantly  finished  in  all  parts  it  is  a  miniature  work 
of  our  great  parent;  who  seems  to  have  formed  it  the  smallest,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  most  beautiful  of  the  winged  species. 

As  I  was  one  day  sitting  solitary  and  pensive  in  my  primitive 
arbour,  my  attention  was  engaged  by  a  strange  sort  of  rustling  noise 
at  some  paces  distant.  I  looked  all  around  without  distinguishing 
any  thing,  until  I  climbed  one  of  my  great  hemp  stalks;  when  to  my 
astonishment,  I  beheld  two  snakes  of  considerable  length,  the  one 
pursuing  the  other  with  great  celerity  through  a  hemp  stubble  field. 
The  aggressor  was  of  the  black  kind,  six  feet  long;  the  fugitive  was 
a  water  snake,  nearly  of  equal  dimensions.  They  soon  met,  and  in 
the  fury  of  their  first  encounter,  they  appeared  in  an  instant  firmly 
twisted  together;  and  whilst  their  united  tails  beat  the  ground,  they 
mutually  tried  with  open  jaws  to  lacerate  each  other.  What  a  fell 
aspect  did  they  present!  their  heads  were  compressed  to  a  very  small 
size,  their  eyes  flashed  fire;  and  after  this  conflict  had  lasted  about 
five  minutes,  the  second  found  means  to  disengage  itself  from  the 
first,  and  hurried  toward  the  ditch.  Its  antagonist  instantly  assumed 
a  new  posture,  and  half  creeping  and  half  erect,  with  a  majestic 
mein,  overtook  and  attacked  the  other  again,  which  placed  itself  in 


J.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CR&VECCEUR  147 

the  same  attitude,  and  prepared  to  resist.  The  scene  was  uncommon 
and  beautiful;  for  thus  opposed  they  fought  with  their  jaws,  biting 
each  other  with  the  utmost  rage;  but  notwithstanding  this  appear- 
ance of  mutual  courage  and  fury,  the  water  snake  still  seemed  desirous 
of  retreating  toward  the  ditch,  its  natural  element.  This  was  no 
sooner  perceived  by  the  keen-eyed  black  one,  than  twisting  its  tail 
twice  round  a  stalk  of  hemp,  and  seizing  its  adversary  by  the  throat, 
not  by  means  of  its  jaws,  but  by  twisting  its  own  neck  twice  round 
that  of  the  water  snake,  pulled  it  back  from  the  ditch.  To  prevent 
a  defeat  the  latter  took  hold  likewise  of  a  stalk  on  the  bank,  and  by 
the  acquisition  of  that  point  of  resistance  became  a  match  for  its 
fierce  antagonist.  Strange  was  this  to  behold;  two  great  snakes 
strongly  adhering  to  the  ground  mutually  fastened  together  by  means 
of  the  writhings  which  lashed  them  to  each  other,  and  stretched  at 
their  full  length,  they  pulled  but  pulled  in  vain;  and  in  the  moments 
of  greatest  exertions  that  part  of  their  bodies  which  was  entwined, 
seemed  extremely  small,  while  the  rest  appeared  inflated,  and  now 
and  then  convulsed  with  strong  undulations,  rapidly  following  each 
other.  Their  eyes  seemed  on  fire,  and  ready  to  start  out  of  their 
heads;  at  one  time  the  conflict  seemed  decided;  the  water-snake 
bent  itself  into  two  great  folds,  and  by  that  operation  rendered  the 
other  more  than  commonly  outstretched;  the  next  minute  the  new 
struggles  of  the  black  one  gained  an  unexpected  superiority,  it 
acquired  two  great  folds  likewise,  which  necessarily  extended  the 
body  of  its  adversary  in  proportion  as  it  had  contracted  its  own. 
These  efforts  were  alternate;  victory  seemed  doubtful,  inclining 
sometimes  to  the  one  side  and  sometimes  to  the  other;  until  at  last 
the  stalk  to  which  the  black  snake  fastened,  suddenly  gave  way, 
and  in  consequence  of  this  accident  they  both  plunged  into  the  ditch. 
The  water  did  not  extinguish  their  vindictive  rage;  for  by  their 
agitations  I  could  trace,  though  not  distinguish  their  mutual  attacks. 
They  soon  re-appeared  on  the  surface  twisted  together,  as  in  their 
first  onset;  but  the  black  snake  seemed  to  retain  its  wonted  supe- 
riority, for  its  head  was  exactly  fixed  above  that  of  the  other,  which 
it  incessantly  pressed  down  under  the  water,  until  it  was  stifled,  and 
sunk.  The  victor  no  sooner  perceived  its  enemy  incapable  of  farther 
resistance,  than  abandoning  it  to  the  current,  it  returned  on  shore 
and  disappeared. 


148  AMERICAN  PROSE 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

FROM 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

A   BOYISH   LEADER 

At  ten  years  old,  I  was  taken  to  help  my  father  in  his  business 
of  a  tallow-chandler  and  soap-boiler,  a  business  to  which  he  was  not 
bred,  but  had  assumed  on  his  arrival  in  New  England,  because  he 
found  that  his  dying  trade,  being  in  little  request,  would  not  main- 
tain his  family.  Accordingly,  I  was  employed  in  cutting  the  wick 
for  the  candles,  filling  the  molds  for  cast  candles,  attending  the  shop, 
going  of  errands,  &c. 

I  disliked  the  trade,  and  had  a  strong  inclination  to  go  to  sea, 
but  my  father  declared  against  it;  but  residing  near  the  water,  I  was 
much  in  and  on  it.  I  learnt  to  swim  well,  and  to  manage  boats; 
and  when  embarked  with  other  boys,  I  was  commonly  allowed  to 
govern,  especially  in  any  case  of  difficulty;  and  upon  other  occa- 
sions, I  was  generally  the  leader  among  the  boys,  and  sometimes 
led  them  into  scrapes,  of  which  I  will  mention  an  instance,  as  it 
shews  an  early  projecting  public  spirit,  though  not  then  justly 
conducted. 

There  was  a  salt  marsh  which  bounded  part  of  the  mill-pond,  on 
the  edge  of  which  at  high  water  we  used  to  stand  to  fish  for  minnows; 
by  much  trampling  we  had  made  it  a  mere  quagmire.  My  proposal 
was  to  build  a  wharf  there  for  us  to  stand  upon,  and  I  shewed  my 
comrades  a  large  heap  of  stones,  which  were  intended  for  a  new  house 
near  the  marsh,  and  which  would  very  well  suit  our  purpose.  Accord- 
ingly, in  the  evening,  when  the  workmen  were  gone  home,  I  assembled 
a  number  of  my  playfellows,  and  we  worked  diligently  like  so  many 
emmets,  sometimes  two  or  three  to  a  stone,  till  we  had  brought  them 
all  to  make  our  little  wharf.  The  next  morning  the  workmen  were 
surprised,  on  missing  the  stones  which  formed  our  wharf;  inquiry 
was  made  after  the  authors  of  this  transfer,  we  were  discovered,  com- 
plained of,  and  corrected  by  our  fathers;  and  though  I  demonstrated 
the  utility  of  our  work,  mine  convinced  me  that,  that  which  was  not 
truly  honest  could  not  be  truly  useful. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  149 

LEARNING  TO  WRITE 

About  this  time  I  met  with  an  odd  volume  of  the  Spectator. 
I  had  never  before  seen  any  of  them.  I  bought  it,  read  it  over  and 
over,  and  was  much  delighted  with  it.  I  thought  the  writing  excel- 
lent, and  wished  if  possible  to  imitate  it.  With  that  view  I  took 
some  of  the  papers,  and  making  short  hints  of  the  sentiments  in  each 
sentence,  laid  them  by  a  few  days,  and  then  without  looking  at  the 
book,  tried  to  complete  the  papers  again,  by  expressing  each  hinted 
sentiment  at  length  and  as  fully  as  it  had  been  expressed  before  in 
any  suitable  words  that  should  occur  to  me.  Then  I  compared  my 
Spectator  with  the  original,  discovered  some  of  my  faults,  and  cor- 
rected them.  But  I  found  I  wanted  a  stock  of  words,  or  a  readiness 
in  recollecting  and  using  them,  which  I  thought  I  should  have  acquired 
before  that  time,  if  I  had  gone  on  making  verses;  since  the  continual 
search  for  words  of  the  same  import,  but  of  different  lengths,  to  suit 
the  measure,  or  of  different  sounds  for  the  rhyme,  would  have  laid 
me  under  a  constant  necessity  of  searching  for  variety,  and  also  have 
tended  to  fix  that  variety  in  my  mind,  and  make  me  master  of  it. 
Therefore  I  took  some  of  the  tales  in  the  Spectator,  and  turned  them 
into  verse:  and  after  a  time,  when  I  had  pretty  well  forgotten  the  prose, 
turned  them  back  again.  I  also  sometimes  jumbled  my  collection 
of  hints  into  confusion,  and  after  some  weeks  endeavored  to  reduce 
them  into  the  best  order,  before  I  began  to  form  the  full  sentences 
and  complete  the  subject.  This  was  to  teach  me  method  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  thoughts.  By  comparing  my  work  with  the 
original,  I  discovered  many  faults  and  corrected  them;  but  I  some- 
times had  the  pleasure  to  fancy,  that  in  particulars  of  small  conse- 
quence I  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  improve  the  method  or  the 
language,  and  this  encouraged  me  to  think,  that  I  might  in  time  come 
to  be  a  tolerable  English  writer,  of  which  I  was  extremely  ambitious. 
The  time  I  alloted  for  writing  exercises  and  for  reading,  was  at 
night,  or  before  work  began  in  the  morning,  or  on  Sunday,  when 
I  contrived  to  be  in  the  printing  house,  avoiding  as  much  as  I  could, 
the  constant  attendance  at  public  worship,  which  my  father  used 
to  exact  from  me  when  I  was  under  his  care,  and  which  I  still 
continued  to  consider  as  a  duty,  though  I  could  not  afford  time  to 
practise  it. 


150  AMERICAN  PROSE 


ENTRANCE   INTO   PHILADELPHIA 

I  have  been  the  more  particular  in  this  description  of  my  journey, 
and  shall  be  so  of  my  first  entry  into  that  city,  that  you  may  in  your 
mind  compare  such  unlikely  beginnings,  with  the  figure  I  have  since 
made  there.  I  was  in  my  working  dress,  my  best  clothes  coming  round 
by  sea.  I  was  dirty,  from  my  being  so  long  hi  the  boat:  my  pockets 
were  stuffed  out  with  shirts  and  stockings,  and  I  knew  no  one,  nor 
where  to  look  for  lodging.  Fatigued  with  walking,  rowing,  and  the 
want  of  sleep,  I  was  very  hungry;  and  my  whole  stock  of  cash  con- 
sisted in  a  single  dollar,  and  about  a  shilling  in  copper  coin,  which 
I  gave  to  the  boatmen  for  my  passage.  At  first  they  refused  it,  on 
account  of  my  having  rowed,  but  I  insisted  on  their  taking  it.  Man 
is  sometimes  more  generous  when  he  has  little  money,  than  when  he 
has  plenty;  perhaps  to  prevent  his  being  thought  to  have  but  little. 
I  walked  towards  the  top  of  the  street,  gazing  about  still  in  Market- 
street,  where  I  met  a  boy  with  bread.  I  had  often  made  a  meal  of 
dry  bread,  and  inquiring  where  he  had  bought  it,  I  went  immediately 
to  the  baker's  he  directed  me  to.  I  asked  for  biscuits,  meaning  such 
as  we  had  at  Boston :  that  sort,  it  seems,  was  not  made  in  Philadelphia. 
I  then  asked  for  a  three-penny  loaf,  and  was  told  they  had  none.  Not 
knowing  the  different  prices,  nor  the  names  of  the  different  sorts  of 
bread,  I  told  him  to  give  me  three-penny  worth  of  any  sort.  He 
gave  me  accordingly  three  great  puffy  rolls.  I  was  surprised  at  the 
quantity,  but  took  it,  and  having  no  room  in  my  pockets,  walked  off 
with  a  roll  under  each  arm,  and  eating  the  other.  Thus  I  went  up 
Market-street  as  far  as  Fourth-street,  passing  by  the  door  of  Mr.  Read, 
my  future  wife's  father;  when  she,  standing  at  the  door,  saw  me,  and 
thought  I  made,  as  I  certainly  did,  a  most  awkward  ridiculous 
appearance.  Then  I  turned  and  went  down  Chestnut-street  and 
part  of  Walnut-street,  eating  my  roll  all  the  way,  and  coming  round 
found  myself  again  at  Market-street  wharf,  near  the  boat  I  came  in, 
to  which  I  went  for  a  draught  of  the  river  water;  and  being  filled 
with  one  of  my  rolls  gave  the  other  two  to  a  woman  and  her  child 
that  came  down  the  river  in  the  boat  with  us,  and  were  waiting  to 
go  farther.  Thus  refreshed,  I  walked  again  up  the  street,  which  by 
this  tune  had  many  clean-dressed  people  in  it,  who  were  all  walking 
the  same  way:  I  joined  them  and  thereby  was  led  into  the  great 
meeting  house  of  the  Quakers  near  the  market.  I  sat  down  among 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  151 

them,  and  after  looking  round  awhile,  and  hearing  nothing  said,  being 
very  drowsy,  through  labor  and  want  of  rest  the  preceding  night,  I  fell 
fast  asleep,  and  continued  so  till  the  meeting  broke  up,  when  some  one 
was  kind  enough  to  rouse  me.  This  therefore  was  the  first  house 
I  was  in,  or  slept  in,  in  Philadelphia. 

SUCCESS  IN   BUSINESS 

I  now  opened  a  small  stationer's  shop:  I  had  in  it  blanks  of  all 
kinds;  the  correctest  that  ever  appeared  among  us.  I  was  assisted 
in  that  by  my  friend  Breintnal:  I  had  also  paper,  parchment,  chap- 
men's books,  &c.  One  Whitemash,  a  compositor  I  had  known  in 
London,  an  excellent  workman,  now  came  to  me,  and  worked  with 
me  constantly  and  diligently;  and  I  took  an  apprentice,  the  son  of 
Aquila  Rose. 

I  began  now  gradually  to  pay  off  the  debt  I  was  under  for  the 
printing  house.  In  order  to  secure  my  credit  and  character  as  a 
tradesman,  I  took  care  not  only  to  be  in  reality  industrious  and  frugal, 
but  to  avoid  the  appearances  to  the  contrary.  I  dressed  plain,  and 
was  seen  at  no  places  of  idle  diversion:  I  never  went  out  a  fishing  or 
shooting:  a  book  indeed  sometimes  debauched  me  from  my  work, 
but  that  was  seldom,  was  private,  and  gave  no  scandal:  and,  to  shew 
that  I  was  not  above  my  business,  I  sometimes  brought  home  the 
paper  I  purchased  at  the  stores  through  the  streets  on  a  wheelbarrow. 
Thus  being  esteemed  an  industrious,  thriving  young  man,  and  paying 
duly  for  what  I  bought,  the  merchants  who  imported  stationary 
solicited  my  custom;  others  proposed  supplying  me  with  books,  and 
I  went  on  prosperously. 

RELIGION 

I  had  been  religiously  educated  as  a  Presbyterian;  but  though 
some  of  the  dogmas  of  that  persuasion,  such  as  the  eternal  decrees  of 
God,  election,  reprobation,  &c.  appeared  to  me  unintelligible,  and  I 
early  absented  myself  from  the  public  assemblies  of  the  sect,  (Sunday 
being  my  studying  day,)  I  never  was  without  some  religious  prin- 
ciples: I  never  doubted,  for  instance,  the  existence  of  a  Deity,  that 
he  made  the  world,  and  governed  it  by  his  providence;  that  the  most 
acceptable  service  of  God  was  the  doing  good  to  man;  that  our  souls 
are  immortal;  and  that  all  crimes  will  be  punished,  and  virtue 
rewarded,  either  here  or  hereafter;  these  I  esteemed  the  essentials  of 


152  AMERICAN  PROSE 


every  religion,  and  being  to  be  found  in  all  the  religions  we  had  in  our 
country,  I  respected  them  all,  though  with  different  degrees  of  respect, 
as  I  found  them  more  or  less  mixed  with  other  articles,  which  without 
any  tendency  to  inspire,  promote,  or  confirm  morality  served  prin- 
cipally to  divide  us,  and  make  us  unfriendly  to  one  another.  This 
respect  to  all,  with  an  opinion  that  the  worst  had  some  effects, 
induced  me  to  avoid  all  discourse  that  might  tend  to  lessen  the  good 
opinion  another  might  have  of  his  own  religion;  and  as  our  province 
increased  in  people,  and  new  places  of  worship  were  continually 
wanted,  and  generally  erected  by  voluntary  contribution,  my  mite 
for  such  purpose,  whatever  might  be  the  sect,  was  never  refused. 

THE  PURSUIT   OF  MORAL  PERFECTION 

It  was  about  this  time  I  conceived  the  bold  and  arduous  project 
)f  arriving  at  moral  perfection;  I  wished  to  live  without  committing 
\ny  fault  at  any  time,  and  to  conquer  all  that  either  natural  inclina- 
tion, custom,  or  company  might  lead  me  into.  As  I  knew,  or  thought 
I  knew,  what  was  right  and  wrong,  I  did  not  see  why  I  might  not 
always  do  the  one  and  avoid  the  other.  But  I  soon  found  I  had  under- 
taken a  task  of  more  difficulty  than  I  had  imagined :  while  my  attention 
was  taken  up,  and  care  employed  in  guarding  against  one  fault,  I  was 
often  surprised  by  another:  habit  took  the  advantage  of  inattention; 
inclination  was  sometimes  too  strong  for  reason.  I  concluded  at 
length  that  the  mere  speculative  conviction,  that  it  was  our  interest 
to  be  completely  virtuous,  was  not  sufficient  to  prevent  our  slipping; 
and  that  the  contrary  habits  must  be  broken,  and  good  ones  acquired 
and  established,  before  we  can  have  any  dependance  on  a  steady 
uniform  rectitude  of  conduct.  For  this  purpose  I  therefore  tried  the 
following  method. 

In  the  various  enumerations  of  the  moral  virtues  I  had  met  with 
in  my  reading,  I  found  the  catalogue  more  or  less  numerous,  as  differ- 
ent writers  included  more  or  fewer  ideas  under  the  same  name. 
Temperance  for  example,  was  by  some  confined  to  eating  and  drinking; 
while  by  others  ijt  was  extended  to  mean  the  moderating  every  other 
pleasure,  appetite,  inclination,  or  passion,  bodily  or  mental,  even  to 
our  avarice  and  ambition.  I  proposed  to  myself,  for  the  sake  of 
clearness,  to  use  rather  more  names,  with  fewer  ideas  annexed  to 
each,  than  a  few  names  with  more  ideas;  and  I  included  under  thir- 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  153 

teen  names  of  virtues,  all  that  at  that  time  occurrred  to  me  as  neces- 
sary or  desirable;  and  annexed  to  each  a  short  precept,  which  fully 
expressed  the  extent  I  gave  to  its  meaning. 

These  names  of  virtues,  with  their  precepts,  were; 

1 .  TEMPERANCE.— Eat  not  to  dulness :  drink  not  to  elevation. 

2.  SILENCE. — Speak  not  but  what  may  benefit  others  or  your- 
self: avoid  trifling  conversation. 

3.  ORDER. — Let  all  your  things  have  their  places:    let  each 
part  of  your  business  have  its  time. 

4.  RESOLUTION. — Resolve  to  perform  what  you  ought:  per- 
form without  fail  what  you  resolve. 

5.  FRUGALITY.— Make  no  expense  but  to  do  good  to  others 
or  yourself:  i.e.  waste  nothing. 

6.  INDUSTRY. — Lose  no  time:  be  always  employed  in  some- 
thing useful:   cut  off  all  unnecessary  actions. 

7.  SINCERITY.— Use  no  hurtful  deceit:   think  innocently  and 
justly:  and,  if  you  speak,  speak  accordingly. 

8.  JUSTICE. — Wrong  none  by  doing  injuries,  or  omitting  the 
benefits  that  are  your  duty. 

9.  MODERATION. — A  void  extremes:  forbear  resenting  injuries 
so  much  as  you  think  they  deserve. 

10.  CLEANLINESS.— Tolerate    no    uncleanliness    in    body, 
clothes,  or  habitation. 

11.  TRANQUILLITY.— Be  not  disturbed  at  trifles,  nor  at  acci- 
dents common  or  unavoidable. 

12.  CHASTITY.—.  .  .  . 

13.  HUMILITY.— Imitate  Jesus  and  Socrates. 

My  intention  being  to  acquire  the  habitude  of  all  these  virtues, 
I  judged  it  would  be  well  not  to  distract  my  attention  by  attempting 
the  whole  at  once,  but  to  fix  it  on  one  of  them  at  a  time;  and  when 
I  should  be  master  of  that,  then  to  proceed  to  another;  and  so  on 
till  I  should  have  gone  through  the  thirteen:  and  as  the  previous 
acquisition  of  some,  might  facilitate  the  acquisition  of  certain  others, 
I  arranged  them  with  that  view  as  they  stand  above.  Temperance 
first,  as  it  tends  to  procure  that  coolness  and  clearness  of  head,  which 
is  so  necessary  where  constant  vigilance  was  to  be  kept  up,  and  a 
guard  maintained  against  the  unremitting  attraction  of  ancient  habits 
and  the  force  of  perpetual  temptations.  This  being  acquired  and 


154  AMERICAN  PROSE 


established,  Silence  would  be  more  easy;  and  my  desire  being  to  gain 
knowledge  at  the  same  time  that  I  improved  in  virtue;  and  con- 
considering  that  in  conversation  it  was  obtained  rather  by  the  use 
of  the  ear  than  of  the  tongue,  and  therefore  wishing  to  break  a  habit 
I  was  getting  into  of  prattling,  punning,  and  jesting,  (which  only  made 
me  acceptable  to  trifling  company)  I  gave  Silence  the  second  place. 
This  and  the  next,  Order,  I  expected  would  allow  me  more  time  for 
attending  to  my  project  and  my  studies.  Resolution  once  become 
habitual,  would  keep  me  firm  in  my  endeavors  to  obtain  all  the  sub- 
sequent virtues.  Frugality  and  Industry  relieving  me  from  my  remain- 
ing debt,  and  producing  affluence  and  independence,  would  make  more 
easy  the  practice  of  Sincerity  and  Justice,  &c.  &c.  Conceiving  then, 
that  agreeably  to  the  advice  of  Pythagoras  in  his  Golden  Verses, 
daily  examination  would  be  necessary;  I  contrived  the  following 
method  for  conducting  that  examination. 

I  made  a  little  book,  in  which  I  allotted  a  page  for  each  of  the 
virtues.  I  ruled  each  page  with  red  ink,  so  as  to  have  seven  columns, 
one  for  each  day  of  .the  week,  marking  each  column  with  a  letter  for 
the  day.  I  crossed  these  columns  with  thirteen  red  lines,  marking 
the  beginning  of  each  line  with  the  first  letter  of  one  of  the  virtues; 
on  which  line,  and  in  its  proper  column,  I  might  mark  by  a  little 
black  spot,  every  fault  I  found  upon  examination  to  have  been  com- 
mitted respecting  that  virtue,  upon  that  day 

I  determined  to  give  a  week's  strict  attention  to  each  of  the 
virtues  successively.  Thus  in  the  first  week,  my  great  guard  was 
to  avoid  every  the  least  offence  against  Temperance;  leaving  the 
other  virtues  to  their  ordinary  chance,  only  marking  every  evening 
the  faults  of  the  day.  Thus,  if  in  the  first  week  I  could  keep  my  first 
line  marked  T.  clear  of  spots,  I  supposed  the  habit  of  that  virtue 
so  much  strengthened,  and  its  opposite  weakened,  that  I  might  venture 
extending  my  attention  to  include  the  next;  and  for  the  following 
week  keep  both  lines  clear  of  spots.  Proceeding  thus  to  the  .last, 
I  could  get  through  a  course  complete  in  thirteen  weeks,  and  four 
courses  in  a  year.  And  like  him  who  having  a  garden  to  weed,  does 
not  attempt  to  eradicate  all  the  bad  herbs  at  once,  (which  would 
exceed  his  reach  and  his  strength,)  but  works  on  one  of  the  beds  at 
a  time,  and  having  accomplished  the  first,  proceeds  to  a  second;  so 
I  should  have  (I  hoped)  the  encouraging  pleasure,  of  seeing  on  my 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  155 

pages  the  progress  made  in  virtue,  by  clearing  successively  my  lines 
of  their  spots;  till  in  the  end,  by  a  number  of  courses,  I  should  be 
happy  in  viewing  a  clean  book,  after  a  thirteen  weeks'  daily  exam- 
ination  

I  entered  upon  the  execution  of  this  plan  for  self-examination, 
and  continued  it  with  occasional  intermissions  for  some  time.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  myself  so  much  fuller  of  faults  than  I  had  imagined; 
but  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  diminish.  To  avoid  the 
trouble  of  renewing  now  and  then  my  little  book,  which  by  scraping 
out  the  marks  on  the  paper  of  .old  faults  to  make  room  for  new  ones 
in  a  new  course,  became  full  of  holes,  I  transformed  my  tables  and 
precepts  to  the  ivory  leaves  of  a  memorandum  book,  on  which  the 
lines  were  drawn  with  red  ink,  that  made  a  durable  stain;  and  on 
those  lines  I  marked  my  faults  with  a  black  lead  pencil ;  which  marks 
I  could  easily  wipe  out  with  a  wet  sponge.  After  a  while  I  went 
through  one  course  only  in  a  year;  and  afterwards  only  one  in  several 
years;  till  at  length  I  omitted  them  entirely,  being  employed  in 
voyages  and  business  abroad,  with  a  multiplicity  of  affairs,  that 
interfered;  but  I  always  carried  my  little  book  with  me. 

WHITEFIELD'S  ELOQUENCE 

Mr.  Whitefield,  on  leaving  us,  went  preaching  all  the  way  through 
the  colonies  to  Georgia.  The  settlement  of  that  province  had  lately 
been  begun,  but  instead  of  being  made  with  hardy  industrious  hus- 
bandmen, accustomed  to  labor,  the  only  people  fit  for  such  an  enter- 
prise, it  was  with  families  of  broken  shopkeepers,  and  other  insolvent 
debtors;  many  of  indolent  and  idle  habits,  taken  out  of  the  jails,  who 
being  set  down  in  the  woods,  unqualified  for  clearing  land,  and  unable 
to  endure  the  hardships  of  a  new  settlement,  perished  in  numbers, 
leaving  many  helpless  children  unprovided  for.  The  sight  of  their 
miserable  situation  inspired  the  benevolent  heart  of  Mr.  Whitefield, 
with  the  idea  of  building  an  orphan-house  there,  in  which  they  might 
be  supported  and  educated.  Returning  northward,  he  preached  up 
this  charity,  and  made  large  collections:  for  his  eloquence  had  a 
wonderful  power  over  the  hearts  and  purses  of  his  hearers,  of  which 
I  myself  was  an  instance.  I  did  not  disapprove  of  the  design,  but  as 
Georgia  was  then  destitute  of  materials  and  workmen,  and  it  was 
proposed  to  send  them  from  Philadelphia  at  a  great  expense,  I  thought 


156  AMERICAN  PROSE 


it  would  have  been  better  to  have  built  the  house  at  Philadelphia  and 
brought  the  children  to  it.  This  I  advised,  but  he  was  resolute  in  his 
first  project,  rejected  my  counsel,  and  I  therefore  refused  to  con- 
tribute. I  happened  soon  after  to  attend  one  of  his  sermons,  in 
the  course  of  which,  I  perceived  he  intended  to  finish  with  a  collec- 
tion, and  I  silently  resolved  he  should  get  nothing  from  me:  I  had 
in  my  pocket  a  handful  of  copper  money,  three  or  four  silver  dollars, 
and  five  pistoles  in  gold;  as  he  proceeded  I  began  to  soften,  and 
concluded  to  give  the  copper.  Another  stroke  of  his  oratory  made 
me  ashamed  of  that,  and  determined  me  to  give  the  silver;  and  he 
finished  so  admirably,  that  I  emptied  my  pocket  wholly  into  the 
collector's  dish,  gold  and  all! 

BENEVOLENT   CUNNING 

In  1751,  Dr.  Thomas  Bond,  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  conceived 
the  idea  of  establishing  an  hospital  in  Philadelphia,  (a  very  beneficent 
design,  which  has  been  ascribed  to  me,  but  was  originally  and  truly 
his)  for  the  reception  and  cure  of  poor  sick  persons,  whether  inhabit- 
ants of  the  province  or  strangers.  He  was  zealous  and  active  in 
endeavoring  to  procure  subscriptions  for  it;  but  the  proposal  being 
a  novelty  in  America,  and  at  first  not  well  understood,  he  met  but 
with  little  success.  At  length  he  came  to  me  with  the  compliment, 
that  he  found  there  was  no  such  a  thing  as  carrying  a  public-spirited 
project  through  without  my  being  concerned  in  it.  "For,"  said  he, 
"I  am  often  asked  by  those  to  whom  I  propose  subscribing,  Have 
you  consulted  Franklin  on  this  business?  And  what  does  he  think  of 
it?  And  when  I  tell  them  that  I  have  not,  (supposing  it  rather  out 
of  your  line)  they  do  not  subscribe,  but  say,  they  will  consider  it." 
I  inquired  into  the  nature  and  probable  utility  of  the  scheme,  and 
receiving  from  him  a  very  satisfactory  explanation,  I  not  only  sub- 
scribed to  it  myself,  but  engaged  heartily  in  the  design  of  procuring 
subscriptions  from  others:  previous  however  to  the  solicitation,  I 
endeavored  to  prepare  the  minds  of  the  people,  by  writing  on  the 
subject  in  the  newspapers,  which  was  my  usual  custom  in  such  cases, 
but  which  Dr.  Bond  had  omitted.  The  subscriptions  afterwards 
were  more  free  and  generous;  but  beginning  to  flag,  I  saw  they  would 
be  insufficient  without  some  assistance  from  the  assembly,  and  there- 
fore proposed  to  petition  for  it;  which  was  done.  The  country 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  157 

members  did  not  at  first  relish  the  project:  they  objected  that  it 
could  only  be  serviceable  to  the  city,  and  therefore  the  citizens  alone 
should  be  at  the  expense  of  it;  and  they  doubted  whether  the  citizens 
themselves  generally  approved  of  it.  My  allegation  on  the  contrary, 
that  it  met  with  such  approbation  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  our  being 
able  to  raise  two  thousand  pounds  by  voluntary  donations,  they  con- 
sidered as  a  most  extravagant  supposition  and  utterly  impossible. 
On  this  I  formed  my  plan;  and  asking  leave  to  bring  in  a  bill  for 
incorporating  the  contributors  according  to  the  prayer  of  their 
petition,  and  granting  them  a  blank  sum  of  money;  which  leave  was 
obtained  chiefly  on  the  consideration,  that  the  house  could  throw  the 
bill  out  if  they  did  not  like  it,  I  drew  it  so  as  to  make  the  important 
clause  a  conditional  one;  viz.  "And  be  it  enacted  by  the  authority 
aforesaid,  that  when  the  said  contributors  shall  have  met  and  chosen 
their  managers  and  treasurer,  and  shall  have  raised  by  their  con- 
tributions a  capital  stock  of  two  thousand  pounds  value,  (the  yearly 
interest  of  which  is  to  be  applied  to  the  accommodation  of  the  sick 
poor  in  the  said  hospital,  and  of  charge  for  diet,  attendance,  advice, 
and  medicines,)  and  shall  make  the  same  appear  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
speaker  of  the  Assembly  for  the  time  being;  that  then  it  shall  and  may 
be  lawful  for  the  said  speaker,  and  he  is  hereby  required  to  sign  an 
order  on  the  provincial  treasurer,  for  the  payment  of  two  thousand 
pounds  in  two  yearly  payments,  to  the  treasurer  of  the  said  hospital, 
to  be  applied  to  the  founding,  building,  and  finishing  of  the  same." 
This  condition  carried  the  bill  through;  for  the  members  who  had 
opposed  the  grant,  and  now  conceived  they  might  have  the  credit  of 
being  charitable  without  the  expense,  agreed  to  its  passage :  and  then 
hi  soliciting  subscriptions  among  the  people,  we  urged  the  conditional 
promise  of  the  law  as  an  additional  motive  to  give,  since  every  man's 
donation  would  be  doubled:  thus  the  clause  worked  both  ways. 
The  subscriptions  accordingly  soon  exceeded  the  requisite  sum,  and 
we  claimed  and  received  the  public  gift,  which  enabled  us  to  carry  the 
design  into  execution.  A  convenient  and  handsome  building  was 
soon  erected;  the  institution  has  by  constant  experience  been  found 
useful,  and  flourishes  to  this  day;  and  I  do  not  remember  any  of  my 
political  manoeuvres,  the  success  of  which  at  the  tune  gave  me  more 
pleasure;  or  wherein,  after  thinking  of  it,  I  more  easily  excused  myself 
for  having  made  some  use  of  cunning. 


158  AMERICAN  PROSE 


THE  WAY  TO  WEALTH 

COURTEOUS  READER 

I  have  heard  that  nothing  gives  an  Author  so  great  Pleasure,  as 
to  find  his  Works  respectfully  quoted  by  other  learned  Authors. 
This  Pleasure  I  have  seldom  enjoyed;  for  tho'  I  have  been,  if  I 
may  say  it  without  Vanity,  an  eminent  Author  of  Almanacks  annually 
now  a  full  Quarter  of  a  Century,  my  Brother  Authors  in  the  same 
Way,  for  what  Reason  I  know  not,  have  ever  been  very  sparing  in  their 
Applauses,  and  no  other  Author  has  taken  the  least  Notice  of  me,  so 
that  did  not  my  Writings  produce  me  some  solid  Pudding,  the  great 
Deficiency  of  Praise  would  have  quite  discouraged  me. 

I  concluded  at  length,  that  the  People  were  the  best  Judges  of  my 
Merit;  for  they  buy  my  Works;  and  besides,  in  my  Rambles,  where 
I  am  not  personally  known,  I  have  frequently  heard  one  or  other  of 
my  Adages  repeated,  with,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  at  the  End  on't; 
this  gave  me  some  Satisfaction,  as  it  showed  not  only  that  my 
Instructions  were  regarded,  but  discovered  likewise  some  Respect  for 
my  Authority;  and  I  own,  that  to  encourage  the  Practice  of  remem- 
bering and  repeating  those  wise  Sentences,  I  have  sometimes  quoted 
myself  with  great  Gravity. 

Judge,  then  how  much  I  must  have  been  gratified  by  an  Incident 
I  am  going  to  relate  to  you.  I  stopt  my  Horse  lately  where  a  great 
Number  of  People  were  collected  at  a  Vendue  of  Merchant  Goods. 
The  Hour  of  Sale  not  being  come,  they  were  conversing  on  the  Badness 
of  the  Times,  and  one  of  the  Company  call'd  to  a  plain  clean  old  Man, 
with  white  Locks,  "Pray,  Father  Abraham,  what  think  you  of  the 
Times  ?  Won't  these  heavy  Taxes  quite  ruin  the  Country  ?  How 
shall  we  be  ever  able  to  pay  them  ?  What  would  you  advise  us  to  ?  " 
Father  Abraham  stood  up,  and  reply 'd,  "If  you'd  have  my  Advice, 
I'll  give  it  you  in  short,  for  A  Word  to  the  Wise  is  enough,  and  many 
Words  won't  fill  a  Bushel,  as  Poor  Richard  says."  They  all  join'd 
in  desiring  him  to  speak  his  Mind,  and  gathering  round  him,  he  pro- 
ceeded as  follows: 

"Friends,"  says  he,  "and  Neighbours,  the  Taxes  are  indeed  very 
heavy,  and  if  those  laid  on  by  the  Government  were  the  only  Ones 
we  had  to  pay,  we  might  more  easily  discharge  them;  but  we  have 
many  others,  and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us.  We  are  taxed 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  159 

twice  as  much  by  our  Idleness,  three  times  as  much  by  our  Pride,  and 
four  times  as  much  by  our  Folly;  and  from  these  Taxes  the  Com- 
missioners cannot  ease  or  deliver  us  by  allowing  an  Abatement. 
However  let  us  hearken  to  good  Advice,  and  something  may  be  done 
for  us;  God  helps  them  that  help  themselves,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  in 
his  Almanack  of  1733. 

It  would  be  thought  a  hard  Government  that  should  tax  its 
People  one-tenth  Part  of  their  Time,  to  be  employed  in  its  Service. 
But  Idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more,  if  we  reckon  all  that  is 
spent  in  absolute  Sloth,  or  doing  of  nothing,  with  that  which  is  spent 
in  idle  Employments  or  Amusements,  that  amount  to  nothing.  Sloth, 
by  bringing  on  Diseases,  absolutely  shortens  Life.  Sloth,  like  Rust, 
consumes  faster  than  Labour  wears;  while  the  used  Key  is  always  bright, 
as  Poor  Richard  says.  But  dost  thou  love  Life,  then  do  not  squander 
Time,  for  that's  the  stuff  Life  is  made  of,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  How 
much  more  than  is  necessary  do  we  spend  in  sleep,  forgetting  that 
The  sleeping  Fox  catches  no  Poultry,  and  that  There  will  be  sleeping 
enough  in  the  Grave,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

//  Time  be  of  all  Things  the  most  precious,  wasting  of  Time  must 
be,  as  Poor  Richards  says,  the  greatest  Prodigality;  since,  as  he  else- 
where tells  us,  Lost  Time  is  never  found  again;  and  what  we  call  Time 
enough,  always  proves  little  enough.  Let  us  then  up  and  be  doing, 
and  doing  to  the  Purpose;  so  by  Diligence  shall  we  do  more  with  less 
Perplexity.  Sloth  makes  all  Things  difficult,  but  Industry  all  easy, 
as  Poor  Richard  says;  and  He  that  riseth  late  must  trot  all  Day,  and 
shall  scarce  overtake  his  Business  at  Night;  while  Laziness  travels  so 
slowly,  that  Poverty  soon  overtakes  him,  as  we  read  in  Poor  Richard, 
who  adds,  Drive  thy  Business,  let  not  that  drive  thee;  and  Early  to 
Bed,  and  early  to  rise,  makes  a  Man  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise. 

So  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  Times.  We  may 
make  these  Times  better,  if  we  bestir  ourselves.  Industry  need  not 
wish,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  and  he  that  lives  upon  Hope  will  die  fasting. 
There  are  no  Gains  without  Pains;  then  Help,  Hands,  for  I  have  no 
Lands,  or  if  I  have,  they  are  smartly  taxed.  And,  as  Poor  Richard 
likewise  observes,  He  that  hath  a  Trade  hath  an  Estate;  and  he  that 
hath  a  Calling,  hath  an  Office  of  Profit  and  Honour;  but  then  the  Trade 
must  be  worked  at,  and  the  Calling  well  followed,  or  neither  the 
Estate  nor  the  Office  will  enable  us  to  pay  our  Taxes.  If  we  are 


160  AMERICAN  PROSE 


industrious,  we  shall  never  starve;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  At  the 
working  Man's  House  Hunger  looks  in,  but  dares  not  enter.  Nor  will 
the  Bailiff  or  the  Constable  enter,  for  Industry  pays  Debts,  while 
Despair  encreaseth  them,  says  Poor  Richard. 

What  though  you  have  found  no  Treasure,  nor  has  any  rich 
Relation  left  you  a  Legacy,  Diligence  is  the  Mother  of  Good-luck  as 
Poor  Richard  says  and  God  gives  all  Things  to  Industry.  Then  plough 
deep,  while  Sluggards  sleep,  and  you  shall  have  Corn  to  sell  and  to  keep, 
says  Poor  Dick.  Work  while  it  is  called  To-day,  for  you  know  not 
how  much  you  may  be  hindered  To-morrow,  which  makes  Poor 
Richard  say,  One  to-day  is  worth  two  To-morrows,  and  farther,  Have 
you  somewhat  to  do  To-morrow,  do  it  To-day.  If  you  were  a  Servant, 
would  you  not  be  ashamed  that  a  good  Master  should  catch  you  idle  ? 
Are  you  then  your  own  Master,  be  ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle,  as 
Poor  Dick  says.  When  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  for  yourself, 
your  Family,  your  Country,  and  your  gracious  King,  be  up  by  Peep 
of  Day;  Let  not  the  Sun  look  down  and  say,  Inglorious  here  he  lies. 
Handle  your  Tools  without  Mittens;  remember  that  The  Cat  in 
Gloves  catches  no  Mice,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  'T  is  true  there  is 
much  to  be  done,  and  perhaps  you  are  weak-handed,  but  stick  to  it 
steadily;  and  you  will  see  great  Effects,  for  Constant  Dropping  wears 
away  Stones,  and  by  Diligence  and  Patience  the  Mouse  ate  in  two  the 
Cable;  and  Little  Strokes  fell  great  Oaks,  as  Poor  Richard  says  in  his 
Almanack,  the  Year  I  cannot  just  now  remember. 

Methinks  I  hear  some  of  you  say,  Must  a  Man  afford  himself  no 
Leisure?  I  will  tell  thee,  my  friend,  what  Poor  Richard  says,  Employ 
thy  Time  well,  if  thou  meanest  to  gain  Leisure;  and,  since  thou  art 
not  sure  of  a  Minute,  throw  not  away  an  hour.  Leisure,  is  Time  for 
doing  something  useful;  this  Leisure  the  diligent  Man  will  obtain, 
but  the  lazy  Man  never;  so  that,  as  Poor  Richard  says  A  Life  of 
Leisure  and  a  Life  of  Laziness  are  two  Things.  Do  you  imagine  that 
Sloth  will  afford  you  more  Comfort  than  Labour  ?  No,  for  as  Poor 
Richard  says,  Trouble  springs  from  Idleness,  and  grievous  Toil  from 
needless  Ease.  Many  without  Labour,  would  live  by  their  Wits  only, 
but  they  break  for  Want  of  Stock.  Whereas  Industry  gives  Comfort, 
and  Plenty,  and  Respect:  Fly  Pleasures,  and  they'll  follow  you.  The 
diligent  Spinner  has  a  large  Shift;  and  now  I  have  a  Sheep  and  a  Cow, 
every  Body  bids  me  good  Morrow;  all  which  is  well  said  by  Poor 
Richard. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  161 

But  with  our  Industry,  we  must  likewise  be  steady,  settled,  and 
careful,  and  oversee  our  own  Affairs  with  our  own  Eyes,  and  not  trust 
too  much  to  others;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says 

I  never  saw  an  oft-removed  Tree, 

Nor  yet  an  oft-removed  Family. 

That  throve  so  well  as  those  that  settled  be. 

And  again,  Three  Removes  is  as  bad  as  a  Fire;  and  again,  Keep  thy  Shop, 
and  thy  Shop  will  keep  thee;  and  again,  //  you  would  have  your  Busi- 
ness done,  go;  if  not,  send.  And  again, 

He  that  by  the  Plough  would  thrive 

Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive. 

And  again,  The  Eye  of  a  Master  will  do  more  Work  than  both  his  Hands; 
and  again,  Want  of  Care  does  us  more  Damage  than  Want  of  Knowl- 
edge; and  again,  Not  to  oversee  Workmen,  is  to  leave  them  your  Purse 
open.  Trusting  too  much  to  others'  Care  is  the  Ruin  of  many;  for, 
as  the  Almanack  says,  In  the  Affairs  of  this  World,  Men  are  saved,  not 
by  Faith,  but  by  the  Want  of  it;  but  a  Man's  own  Care  is  profitable; 
for,  saith  Poor  Dick,  Learning  is  to  the  Studious,  and  Riches  to  the 
Careful,  as  well  as,  Power  to  the  Bold,  and  Heaven  to  the  Virtuous, 
And  farther,  //  you  would  have  a  faithful  Servant,  and  one  that  you 
like,  serve  yourself.  And  again,  he  adviseth  to  Circumspection  and 
Care,  even  in  the  smallest  Matters,  because  sometimes,  A  little  Neg- 
lect may  breed  great  Mischief;  adding,  for  want  of  a  Nail  the  Shoe 
was  lost;  for  want  of  a  Shoe  the  Horse  was  lost;  and  for  want  of  a  Horse 
the  Rider  was  lost,  being  overtaken  and  slain  by  the  Enemy;  all  for 
want  of  Care  about  a  Horse-shoe  Nail. 

So  much  for  Industry,  my  Friends,  and  Attention  to  one's  own 
Business;  but  to  these  we  must  add  Frugality,  if  we  would  make  our 
Industry  more  certainly  successful.  A  Man  may,  if  he  knows  not 
how  to  save  as  he  gets,  keep  his  Nose  all  his  Life  to  the  Grindstone,  and 
die  not  worth  a  Groat  at  last.  A  fat  Kitchen  makes  a  lean  Will,  as 
Poor  Richard  says;  and 

Many  Estates  are  spent  in  the  Getting, 

Since  Women  for  Tea  forsook  Spinning  and  Knitting, 

And  Men  for  Punch  forsook  Hewing  and  Splitting. 

If  you  would  be  wealthy,  says  he  in  another  Almanack,  think  of  Saving 
as  well  as  of  Getting:  The  Indies  have  not  made  Spain  rich,  because  her 
Outgoes  are  greater  than  her  Incomes. 


162  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Away  then  with  your  expensive  Follies,  and  you  will  not  then 
have  so  much  Cause  to  complain  of  hard  Times,  heavy  Taxes,  and 
chargeable  Families;  for,  as  Poor  Dick  says, 

Women  and  Wine,  Game  and  Deceit, 
Make  the  Wealth  small  and  the  Wants  great. 

And  farther,  What  maintains  one  Vice,  would  bring  up  two  Children. 
You  may  think  perhaps,  that  a  little  Tea,  or  a  little  Punch  now  and 
then,  Diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes  a  little  finer,  and  a  little  Enter- 
tainment now  and  then,  can  be  no  great  Matter;  but  remember  what 
Poor  Richard  says,  Many  a  Little  makes  a  Mickle;  and  farther, 
Beware  of  little  Expences;  A  small  Leak  will  sink  a  great  Ship;  and 
again,  Who  Dainties  love,  shall  Beggars  prove;  and  moreover,  Fools 
make  Feasts,  and  wise  Men  eat  them. 

Here  you  are  all  got  together  at  this  Vendue  of  Fineries  and  Knick- 
nacks.  You  call  them  Goods;  but  if  you  do  not  take  Care,  they  will 
prove  Evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect  they  will  be  sold  cheap,  and 
perhaps  they  may  for  less  than  they  cost;  but  if  you  have  no  Occasion 
for  them,  they  must  be  dear  to  you.  Remember  what  Poor  Richard 
says;  Buy  what  thou  hast  no  Need  of,  and  ere  long  thou  shall  sell  thy 
Necessaries.  And  again,  At  a  great  Pennyworth  pause  a  while:  He 
means,  that  perhaps  the  Cheapness  is  apparent  only,  and  not  Real; 
or  the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in  thy  Business,  may  do  thee  more 
Harm  than  Good.  For  in  another  Place  he  says,  Many  have  been 
'ruined  by  buying  good  Pennyworths.  Again,  Poor  Richard  says, 
't  is  foolish  to  lay  out  Money  in  a  Purchase  of  Repentance;  and  yet  this 
Folly  is  practised  every  Day  at  Vendues,  for  want  of  minding  the 
Almanack.  Wise  Men,  as  Poor  Dick  says,  learn  by  others  Harms, 
fools  scarcely  by  their  own;  but  felix  quern  faciunt  aliena  pericula 
cautum.  Many  a  one,  for  the  Sake  of  Finery  on  the  Back,  have  gone 
with  a  hungry  Belly,  and  half-starved  their  Families.  Silks  and 
Sattins,  Scarlet  and  Velvet,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  put  out  the  Kitchen 
Fire. 

These  are  not  the  Necessaries. of  Life;  they  can  scarcely  be  called 
the  Conveniences;  and  yet  only  because  they  look  pretty,  how  many 
want  to  have  them!  The  artificial  Wants  of  Mankind  thus  become 
more  numerous  than  the  Natural;  and,  as  Poor  Dick  says,  for  one 
poor  Person,  there  are  an  hundred  Indigent.  By  these,  and  other 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  163 

Extravagancies,  the  Genteel  are  reduced  to  poverty,  and  forced  to 
borrow  of  those  whom  they  formerly  despised,  but  who  through 
Industry  and  Frugality  have  maintained  their  Standing;  in  which 
Case  it  appears  plainly,  that  A  Ploughman  on  his  Legs  is  higher  than 
a  Gentleman  on  his  Knees,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  Perhaps  they  have 
had  a  small  Estate  left  them,  which  they  knew  not  the  Getting  of; 
they  think,  '/  is  Day,  and  will  never  be  Night;  that  a  little  to  be  spent 
out  of  so  much  is  not  worth  minding;  a  Child  and  a  Fool,  as  Poor 
Richard  says,  imagine  Twenty  shillings  and  Twenty  Years  can  never 
be  spent,  but  always  taking  out  of  the  Meal-tub,  and  never  putting  in, 
soon  comes  to  the  Bottom;  as  Poor  Dick  says,  When  the  Well's  dry,  they 
know  the  Worth  of  Water.  But  this  they  might  have  known  before, 
if  they  had  taken  his  Advice;  //  you  would  know  the  Value  of  Money, 
go  and  try  to  borrow  some;  for,  he  that  goes  a  borrowing  goes  a  sorrowing; 
and  indeed  so  does  he  that  lends  to  such  People,  when  he  goes  to  get 
it  in  again.  Poor  Dick  farther  advises,  and  says, 

Fond  Pride  of  Dress  is  sure  a  very  Curse; 

E'er  Fancy  you  consult,  consult  your  Purse. 

And  again,  Pride  is  as  loud  a  Beggar  as  Want,  and  a  great  deal  more 
saucy.  When  you  have  bought  one  fine  Thing,  you  must  buy  ten 
more,  that  your  Appearance  may  be  all  of  a  Piece;  but  Poor  Dick 
says,  'Tis  easier  to  suppress  the  first  Desire,  than  to  satisfy  all  that  follow 
it.  And  't  is  as  truly  Folly  for  the  Poor  to  ape  the  Rich,  as  for  the 
Frog  to  swell,  in  order  to  equal  the  Ox. 

Great  Estates  may  venture  more, 

But  little  Boats  should  keep  near  Shore. 

'T  is,  however,  a  Folly  soon  punished;  for,  Pride  that  dines  on  Vanity, 
sups  on  Contempt,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  And  in  another  Place, 
Pride  breakfasted  with  Plenty,  dined  with  Poverty,  and  supped  with 
Infamy.  And  after  all,  of  what  Use  is  this  Pride  of  Appearance,  for 
which  so  much  is  risked  so  much  is  suffered?  It  cannot  promote 
Health,  or  ease  Pain;  it  makes  no  Increase  of  Merit  in  the  Person, 
it  creates  Envy,  it  hastens  Misfortune. 

What  is  a  Butterfly  ?     At  best 

He  's  but  a  Caterpillar  drest; 

The  gaudy  Fop  's  his  Picture  just, 

as  Poor  Richard  says. 


164  AMERICAN  PROSE 


But  what  Madness  must  it  be  to  run  in  Debt  for  these  Super- 
fluities! We  are  offered,  by  the  Terms  of  this  Vendue,  Six  Months' 
Credit;  and  that  perhaps  has  induced  some  of  us  to  attend  it,  because 
we  cannot  spare  the  ready  Money,  and  hope  now  to  be  fine  without 
it.  But,  ah,  think  what  you  do  when  you  run  in  Debt;  You  give  to 
another  Power  over  your  Liberty.  If  you  cannot  pay  at  the  Time,  you 
will  be  ashamed  to  see  your  Creditor;  you  will  be  in  Fear  when  you 
speak  to  him;  you  will  make  poor  pitiful  sneaking  Excuses,  and  by 
Degrees  come  to  lose  your  Veracity,  and  sink  into  base  downright 
lying;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says  The  second  Vice  is  Lying,  the  first  is 
running  in  Debt.  And  again,  to  the  same  Purpose,  Lying  rides  upon 
Debt's  Back.  Whereas  a  free-born  Englishman  ought  not  to  be 
ashamed  or  afraid  to  see  or  speak  to  any  Man  living.  But  Poverty 
often  deprives  a  Man  of  all  Spirit  and  Virtue:  'T  is  hard  for  an  empty 
Bag  to  stand  upright,  as  Poor  Richard  truly  says. 

What  would  you  think  of  that  Prince,  or  that  Government,  who 
should  issue  an  Edict  forbidding  you  to  dress  like  a  Gentleman  or  a 
Gentlewoman,  on  Pain  of  Imprisonment  or  Servitude  ?  Would  you 
not  say,  that  you  were  free,  have  a  Right  to  dress  as  you  please,  and 
that  such  an  Edict  would  be  a  Breach  of  your  Privileges,  and  such  a 
Government  tyrannical?  And  yet  you  are  about  to  put  yourself 
under  that  Tyranny,  when  you  run  in  Debt  for  such  Dress!  Your 
Creditor  has  Authority,  at  his  Pleasure  to  deprive  you  of  your  Liberty, 
by  confining  you  in  Goal  for  Life,  or  to  sell  you  for  a  Servant,  if  you 
should  not  be  able  to  pay  him!  When  you  have  got  your  Bargain, 
you  may,  perhaps,  think  little  of  Payment;  but  Creditors,  Poor 
Richard  tells  us,  have  better  Memories  than  Debtors;  and  in  another 
Place  says,  Creditors  are  a  superstitious  Sect,  great  Observers  of  set 
Days  and  Times.  The  Day  comes  round  before  you  are  aware,  and 
the  Demand  is  made  before  you  are  prepared  to  satisfy  it,  Or  if  you 
bear  your  Debt  in  Mind,  the  Term  which  at  first  seemed  so  long, 
will,  as  it  lessens,  appear  extreamly  short.  Time  will  seem  to  have 
added  Wings  to  his  Heels,  as  well  as  Shoulders.  Those  have  a 
short  Lent,  saith  Poor  Richard,  who  owe  Money  to  be  paid  at  Easter. 
Then  since,  as  he  says,  The  Borrower  is  a  Slave  to  the  Lender,  and  the 
Debtor  to  the  Creditor,  disdain  the  Chain,  preserve  your  Freedom; 
and  maintain  your  Independency:  Be  industrious  a.ndfree;  be  frugal 
and  free.  At  present,  perhaps,  you  may  think  yourself  in  thriving 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  16$ 

Circumstances,  and  that  you  can  bear  a  little  Extravagance  without 
Injury;  but, 

For  Age  and  Want,  save  while  you  may; 
No  Morning  Sun  lasts  a  whole  Day, 

as  Poor  Richard  says.  Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain,  but 
ever  while  you  live,  Expence  is  constant  and  certain;  and  '/  is  easier 
to  build  two  Chimnies,  than  to  keep  one  in  Fuel,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 
So,  Rather  go  to  Bed  supperless  than  rise  in  Debt. 

Get  what  you  can,  and  what  you  get  hold; 

'T  is  the  Stone  that  will  turn  all  your  lead  into  Gold, 

as  Poor  Richard  says.  And  when  you  have  got  the  Philosopher's 
Stone,  sure  you  will  no  longer  complain  of  bad  Times,  or  the  Difficulty 
of  paying  Taxes. 

This  Doctrine,  my  friends,  is  Reason  and  Wisdom;  but  after  all, 
do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  Industry,  and  Frugality,  and 
Prudence,  though  excellent  Things,  for  they  may  all  be  blasted  with- 
out the  Blessing  of  Heaven;  and  therefore,  ask  that  Blessing  humbly, 
and  be  not  uncharitable  to  those  that  at  present  seem  to  want  it,  but 
comfort  and  help  them.  Remember,  Job  suffered,  and  was  after- 
wards prosperous. 

And  now  to  conclude,  Experience  keeps  a  dear  School,  but  Fools 
will  learn  in  no  other,  and  scarce  in  that;  for  it  is  true,  we  may  give 
Advice,  but  we  cannot  give  Conduct,  as  Poor  Richard  says:  However, 
remember  this,  They  that  won't  be  counselled,  can't  be  helped,  as  Poor 
Richard  says;  and  farther,  That,  if  you  will  not  hear  Reason,  she'll 
surely  rap  your  Knuckles." 

Thus  the  old  Gentleman  ended  his  Harangue.  The  People 
heard  it,  and  approved  the  Doctrine,  and  immediately  practised  the 
contrary,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  common  Sermon;  for  the  Vendue 
opened,  and  they  began  to  buy  extravagantly,  notwithstanding,  his 
Cautions  and  their  own  Fear  of  Taxes.  I  found  the  good  Man  had 
thoroughly  studied  my  Almanacks,  and  digested  all  I  had  dropt  on 
these  Topicks  during  the  Course  of  Five  and  Twenty  Years.  The 
frequent  Mention  he  made  of  me  must  have  tired  any  one  else,  but 
my  Vanity  was  wonderfully  delighted  with  it,  though  I  was  conscious 


166  AMERICAN  PROSE 


that  not  a  tenth  Part  of  the  Wisdom  was  my  own,  which  he  ascribed 
to  me,  but  rather  the  Gleanings  I  had  made  of  the  Sense  of  all  Ages 
and  Nations.  However,  I  resolved  to  be  the  better  for  the  Echo  of 
it;  and  though  I  had  at  first  determined  to  buy  Stuff  for  a  new  Coat 
I  went  away  resolved  to  wear  my  old  One  a  little  longer.  Reader, 
if  thou  wilt  do  the  same,  thy  Profit  will  be  as  great  as  mine.  I  am, 
as  ever,  thine  to  serve  thee, 

RICHARD  SAUNDERS. 
July  7,  1757. 

THE  EPHEMERA 

AN  EMBLEM   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 

To  Madame  Brillon,  of  Passy 

You  may  remember,  my  dear  friend,  that  when  we  lately  spent 
that  happy  day  in  the  delightful  garden  and  sweet  society  of  the 
Moulin  Joly,  I  stopped  a  little  in  one  of  our  walks,  and  stayed  some 
time  behind  the  company.  We  had  been  shown  numberless  skeletons 
of  a  kind  of  little  fly,  called  an  ephemera,  whose  successive  generations, 
we  were  told,  were  bred  and  expired  within  the  day.  I  happened  to 
see  a  living  company  of  them  on  a  leaf,  who  appeared  to  be  engaged  in 
conversation.  You  know  I  understand  all  the  inferior  animal  tongues. 
My  too  great  application  to  the  study  of  them  is  the  best  excuse  I  can 
give  for  the  little  progress  I  have  made  in  your  charming  language. 
I  listened  through  curiosity  to  the  discourse  of  these  little  creatures; 
but  as  they,  in  their  national  vivacity,  spoke  three  or  four  together, 
I  could  make  but  little  of  their  conversation.  I  found,  however,  by 
some  broken  expressions  that  I  heard  now  and  then,  they  were  dis- 
puting warmly  on  the  merit  of  two  foreign  musicians,  one  a  cousin, 
the  other  a  moscheto;  in  which  dispute  they  spent  their  time,  seemingly 
as  regardless  of  the  shortness  of  life  as  if  they  had  been  sure  of  living 
a  month.  Happy  people !  thought  I ;  you  are  certainly  under  a  wise, 
just,  and  mild  government,  since  you  have  no  public  grievances  to 
complain  of,  nor  any  subject  of  contention  but  the  perfections  and 
imperfections  of  foreign  music.  I  turned  my  head  from  them  to  an 
old  grey-headed  one,  who  was  single  on  another  leaf,  and  talking 
to  himself.  Being  amused  with  his  soliloquy,  I  put  it  down  in  writing, 
in  hopes  it  will  likewise  amuse  her  to  whom  I  am  so  much  indebted 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  167 


for  the  most  pleasing  of  all  amusements,  her  delicious  company  and 
heavenly  harmony. 

"It  was,"  said  he,  "the  opinion  of  learned  philosophers  of  our 
race,  who  lived  and  nourished  long  before  my  time,  that  this  vast 
world,  the  Moulin  Joly,  could  not  itself  subsist  more  than  eighteen 
hours;  and  I  think  there  was  some  foundation  for  that  opinion,  since, 
by  the  apparent  motion  of  the  great  luminary  that  gives  life  to  all 
nature,  and  which  in  my  time  has  evidently  declined  considerably 
towards  the  ocean  at  the  end  of  our  earth,  it  must  then  finish  its 
course,  be  extinguished  in  the  waters  that  surround  us,  and  leave 
the  world  in  cold  and  darkness,  necessarily  producing  universal 
death  and  destruction.  I  have  lived  seven  of  those  hours,  a  great  age, 
being  no  less  than  four  hundred  and  twenty  minutes  of  time.  How 
very  few  of  us  continue  so  long!  I  have  seen  generations  born, 
flourish,  and  expire.  My  present  friends  are  the  children  and  grand- 
children of  the  friends  of  my  youth,  who  are  now,  alas,  no  more! 
And  I  must  soon  follow  them;  for,  by  the  course  of  nature,  though  still 
in  health,  I  cannot  expect  to  live  above  seven  or  eight  minutes  longer. 
What  now  avails  all  my  toil  and  labor,  in  amassing  honey-dew  on  this 
leaf,  which  I  cannot  live  to  enjoy!  What  the  political  struggles  I 
have  been  engaged  in,  for  the  good  of  my  compatriot  inhabitants  of 
this  bush,  or  my  philosophical  studies  for  the  benefit  of  our  race  in 
general!  for,  in  politics,  what  can  laws  do  without  morals?  Our 
present  race  of  ephemerae  will  in  a  course  of  minutes  become  cor- 
rupt, like  those  of  other  and  older  bushes,  and  consequently  as 
wretched.  And  in  philosophy  how  small  our  progress!  Alas!  art 
is  .long,  and  life  is  short!  My  friends  would  comfort  me  with  the  idea 
of  a  name,  they  say,  I  shall  leave  behind  me ;  and  they  tell  me  I  have 
lived  long  enough  to  nature  and  to  glory.  But  what  will  fame  be 
to  an  ephemera  who  no  longer  exists?  And  what  will  become  of 
all  history  in  the  eighteenth  hour,  when  the  world  itself,  even  the 
whole  Moulin  Joly,  shall  come  to  its  end,  and  be  buried  in  universal 
ruin  ?  " 

To  me,  after  all  my  eager  pursuits,  no  solid  pleasures  now  remain, 
but  the  reflection  of  a  long  life  spent  in  meaning  well,  the  sensible 
conversation  of  a  few  good  lady  ephemerae,  and  now  and  then  a  kind 
smile  and  a  tune  from  the  ever  amiable  Brillante. 

B.  FRANKLIN 


l68  AMERICAN  PROSE 


DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  FRANKLIN  AND  THE  GOUT 
Midnight,  22  October,  1780. 

FRANKLIN.  Eh!  Oh!  Eh!  What  have  I  done  to  merit  these 
cruel  sufferings  ? 

GOUT.  Many  things;  you  have  ate  and  drank  too  freely,  and 
too  much  indulged  those  legs  of  yours  in  their  indolence. 

FRANKLIN.    Who  is  it  that  accuses  me  ? 

GOUT.    It  is  I,  even  I,  the  Gout. 

FRANKLIN.    What !  my  enemy  in  person  ? 

GOUT.    No,  not  your  enemy. 

FRANKLIN.  I  repeat  it;  my  enemy;  for  you  would  not  only 
torment  my  body  to  death,  but  ruin  my  good  name;  you  reproach 
me  as  a  glutton  and  a  tippler;  now  all  the  world,  that  knows  me,  will 
allow  that  I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

GOUT.  The  world  may  think  as  it  pleases;  it  is  always  very 
complaisant  to  itself,  and  sometimes  to  its  friends;  but  I  very  well 
know  that  the  quantity  of  meat  and  drink  proper  for  a  man,  who 
takes  a  reasonable  degree  of  exercise,  would  be  too  much  for  another, 
who  never  takes  any. 

FRANKLIN.  I  take — Eh !  Oh ! — as  much  exercise — Eh ! — as  I  can, 
Madam  Gout.  You  know  my  sedentary  state,  and  on  that  account, 
it  would  seem,  Madam  Gout,  as  if  you  might  spare  me  a  little,  seeing 
it  is  not  altogether  my  own  fault. 

GOUT.  Not  a  jot;  your  rhetoric  and  your  politeness  are  thrown 
away;  your  apology  avails  nothing.  If  your  situation  in  life  is  a 
sedentary  one,  your  amusements,  your  recreations,  at  least,  should  be 
active.  You  ought  to  walk  or  ride;  or,  if  the  weather  prevents 
that,  play  at  billiards.  But  let  us  examine  your  courseof  life.  While 
the  mornings  are  long,  and  you  have  leisure  to  go  abroad,  what  do 
you  do?  Why,  instead  of  gaining  an  appetite  for  breakfast,  by 
salutary  exercise,  you  amuse  yourself  with  books,  pamphlets,  or  news- 
papers, which  commonly  are  not  worth  the  reading.  Yet  you  eat 
an  inordinate  breakfast,  four  dishes  of  tea,  with  cream,  and  one  or 
two  buttered  toasts,  with  slices  of  hung  beef,  which  I  fancy  are  not* 
things  the  most  easily  digested.  Immediately  afterward  you  sit 
down  to  write  at  your  desk,  or  converse  with  persons  who  apply  to 
you  on  business.  Thus  the  time  passes  till  one  without  any  kind  of 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  169 

bodily  exercise.  But  all  this  I  could  pardon,  in  regard,  as  you  say, 
to  your  sedentary  condition.  But  what  is  your  practice  after  dinner  ? 
Walking  in  the  beautiful  gardens  of  those  friends,  with  whom  you 
have  dined,  would  be  the  choice  of  men  of  sense;  yours  is  to  be  fixed 
down  to  chess,  where  you  are  found  engaged  for  two  or  three  hours! 
This  is  your  perpetual  recreation,  which  is  the  least  eligible  of  any  for 
a  sedentary  man,  because,  instead  of  accelerating  the  motion  of  the 
fluids,  the  rigid  attention  it  requires  helps  to  retard  the  circulation 
and  obstruct  internal  secretions.  Wrapt  in  the  speculations  of  this 
wretched  game,  you  destroy  your  constitution.  What  can  be 
expected  from  such  a  course  of  living,  but  a  body  replete  with  stag- 
nant humors,  ready  to  fall  a  prey  to  all  kinds  of  dangerous  maladies, 
if  I,  the  Gout,  did  not  occasionally  bring  you  relief  by  agitating  those 
humors,  and  so  purifying  or  dissipating  them?  If  it  was  in  some 
nook  or  alley  in  Paris,  deprived  of  walks,  that  you  played  awhile  at 
chess  after  dinner,  this  might  be  excusable;  but  the  same  taste 
prevails  with  you  in  Passy,  Auteuil,  Montmartre,  or  Sanoy,  places 
where  there  are  the  finest  gardens  and  walks,  a  pure  air,  beautiful 
women,  and  most  agreeable  and  instructive  conversation;  all  which 
you  might  enjoy  by  frequenting  the  walks.  But  these  are  rejected  for 
this  abominable  game  of  chess.  Fie,  then,  Mr.  Franklin !  But 
amidst  my  instructions,  I  had  almost  forgot  to  administer  my  whole- 
some corrections;  so  take  that  twinge, — and  that. 

FRANKLIN.  Oh!  Eh!  Oh!  Ohhh!  As  much  instruction  as  you 
please,  Madam  Gout,  and  as  many  reproaches;  but  pray,  Madam, 
a  truce  with  your  corrections! 

GOUT.  No,  Sir,  no, — I  will  not  abate  a  particle  of  what  is  so 
much  for  your  good, — therefore — 

FRANKLIN.  Oh!  Ehhh! — It  is  not  fair  to  say  I  take  no  exercise, 
when  I  do  very  often,  going  out  to  dine  and  returning  in  my  carriage. 

GOUT.  That,  of  all  imaginable  exercises,  is  the  most  slight  and 
insignificant,  if  you  allude  to  the  motion  of  a  carriage  suspended  on 
springs.  By  observing  the  degree  of  heat  obtained  by  different  kinds 
of  motion,  we  may  form  an  estimate  of  the  quantity  of  exercise  given 
by  each.  Thus,  for  example,  if  you  turn  out  to  walk  in  winter  with 
cold  feet,  in  an  hour's  tune  you  will  be  in  a  glow  all  over;  ride  on 
horseback,  the  same  effect  will  scarcely  be  perceived  by  four  hours' 
round  trotting;  but  if  you  loll  in  a  carriage,  such  as  you  have 


I yo  AMERICAN  PROSE 


mentioned,  you  may  travel  all  day,  and  gladly  enter  the  last  inn  to  warm 
your  feet  by  a  fire.  Flatter  yourself  then  no  longer,  that  half  an 
hour's  airing  in  your  carriage  deserves  the  name  of  exercise.  Provi- 
dence has  appointed  few  to  roll  in  carriages,  while  he  has  given  to  all 
a  pair  of  legs,  which  are  machines  infinitely  more  commodious  and 
serviceable.  Be  grateful,  then,  and  make  a  proper  use  of  yours. 
Would  you  know  how  they  forward  the  circulation  of  your  fluids, 
in  the  very  action  of  transporting  you  from  place  to  place;  observe 
when  you  walk,  that  all  your  weight  is  alternately  thrown  from  one 
leg  to  the  other;  this  occasions  a  great  pressure  on  the  vessels  of 
the  foot,  and  repels  their  contents;  when  relieved,  by  the  weight 
being  thrown  on  the  other  foot,  the  vessels  of  the  first  are  allowed  to 
replenish,  and,  by  a  return  of  this  weight,  this  repulsion  again  suc- 
ceeds; thus  accelerating  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  The  heat 
produced  in  any  given  time,  depends  on  the  degree  of  this  accelera- 
tion; the  fluids  are  shaken,  the  humors  attenuated,  the  secretions 
facilitated,  and  all  goes  well;  the  cheeks  are  ruddy,  and  health  is 
established.  Behold  your  fair  friend  at  Auteuil;  a  lady  who  received 
from  bounteous  nature  more  really  useful  science,  than  half  a  dozen 
such  pretenders  to  philosophy  as  you  have  been  able  to  extract  from 
all  your  books.  When  she  honors  you  with  a  visit,  it  is  on  foot. 
She  walks  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  leaves  indolence,  and  its  con- 
comitant maladies,  to  be  endured  by  her  horses.  In  this  see  at 
once  the  preservative  of  her  health  and  personal  charms.  But 
when  you  go  to  Auteuil,  you  must  have  your  carriage,  though  it  is 
no  further  from  Passy  to  Auteuil  than  from  Auteuil  to  Passy. 

FRANKLIN.    Your  reasonings  grow  very  tiresome. 

GOUT.  1  stand  corrected.  I  will  be  silent  and  continue  my 
office;  take  that,  and  that. 

FRANKLIN.    Oh!  Ohh!    Talk  on,  I  pray  you! 

GOUT.  No,  no;  I  have  a  good  number  of  twinges  for  you  to-night, 
and  you  may  be  sure  of  some  more  to-morrow. 

FRANKLIN.  What,  with  such  a  fever!  I  shall  go  distracted. 
Oh!  Eh!  Can  no  one  bear  it  for  me  ? 

GOUT.    Ask  that  of  your  horses ;  they  have  served  you  faithfully. 

FRANKLIN.    How  can  you  so  cruelly  sport  with  my  torments  ? 

GOUT.  Sport!  I  am  very  serious.  I  have  here  a  list  of  offences 
against  your  own  health  distinctly  written,  and  can  justify  every 
stroke  inflicted  on  you. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  171 

FRANKLIN.    Read  it  then. 

GOUT.  It  is  too  long  a  detail;  but  I  will  briefly  mention  some 
particulars. 

FRANKLIN.     Proceed.    I  am  all  attention. 

GOUT.  Do  you  remember  how  often  you  have  promised  your- 
self, the  following  morning,  a  walk  in  the  grove  of  Boulogne,  in  the 
garden  de  la  Muette,  or  in  your  own  garden,  and  have  violated  your 
promise,  alleging,  at  one  time,  it  was  too  cold,  at  another  too  warm, 
too  windy,  too  moist,  or  what  else  you  pleased;  when  in  truth  it 
was  too  nothing,  but  your  insuperable  love  of  ease  ? 

FRANKLIN.  That  I  confess  may  have  happened  occasionally, 
probably  ten  times  in  a  year. 

GOUT.  Your  confession  is  very  far  short  of  the  truth;  the  gross 
amount  is  one  hundred  and  ninety-nine  times. 

FRANKLIN.    Is  it  possible  ? 

GOUT.  So  possible,  that  it  is  fact;  you  may  rely  on  the  accuracy 
of  my  statement.  You  know  Mr.  Brillon's  gardens,  and  what  fine 
walks  they  contain;  you  know  the  handsome  flight  of  an  hundred 
steps,  which  lead  from  the  terrace  above  to  the  lawn  below.  You 
have  been  in  the  practice  of  visiting  this  amiable  family  twice  a 
week,  after  dinner,  and  it  is  a  maxim  of  your  own,  that  "a  man  may 
take  as  much  exercise  in  walking  a  mile,  up  and  down  stairs,  as  in 
ten  on  level  ground."  What  an  opportunity  was  here  for  you  to  have 
had  exercise  in  both  these  ways!  Did  you  embrace  it,  and  how  often  ? 

FRANKLIN.    I  cannot  immediately  answer  that  question. 

GOUT.    I  will  do  it  for  you;  not  once. 

FRANKLIN.    Not  once  ? 

GOUT.  Even  so.  During  the  summer  you  went  there  at  six 
o'clock.  You  found  the  charming  lady,  with  her  lovely  children  and 
friends,  eager  to  walk  with  you,  and  entertain  you  with  their  agreeable 
conversation;  and  what  has  been  your  choice?  Why  to  sit  on  the 
terrace,  satisfying  yourself  with  the  fine  prospect,  and  passing  your 
eye  over  the  beauties  of  the  garden  below,  without  taking  one  step 
to  descend  and  walk  about  in  them.  On  the  contrary,  you  call  for 
tea  and  the  chess-board;  and  lo!  you  are  occupied  in  your  seat  till 
nine  o'clock,  and  that  besides  two  hours'  play  after  dinner;  and  then, 
instead  of  walking  home,  which  would  have  bestirred  you  a  little, 
you  step  into  your  carriage.  How  absurd  to  suppose  that  all  this 
carelessness  can  be  reconcilable  with  health,  without  my  interposition! 


172  AMERICAN  PROSE 


FRANKLIN.  I  am  convinced  now  of  the  justness  of  poor  Richard's 
remark,  that  "Our  debts  and  our  sins  are  always  greater  than  we 
think  for." 

GOUT.  So  it  is.  You  philosophers  are  sages  in  your  maxims, 
and  fools  in  your  conduct. 

FRANKLIN.  But  do  you  charge  among  my  crimes,  that  I  return 
in  a  carriage  from  Mr.  Brillon's  ? 

GOUT.  Certainly;  for,  having  been  seated  all  the  while,  you 
cannot  object  the  fatigue  of  the  day,  and  cannot  want  therefore  the 
relief  of  a  carriage. 

FRANKLIN.    What  then  would  you  have  me  do  with  my  carriage  ? 

GOUT.  Burn  it  if  you  choose;  you  would  at  least  get  heat  out 
of  it  once  in  this  way;  or,  if  you  dislike  that  proposal,  here  's  another 
for  you;  observe  the  poor  peasants,  who  work  in  the  vineyards  and 
grounds  about  the  villages  of  Passy,  Auteuil,  Chaillot,  &c.;  you  may 
find  every  day,  among  these  deserving  creatures,  four  or  five  old  men 
and  women,  bent  and  perhaps  crippled  by  weight  of  years,  and  too 
long  and  too  great  labor.  After  a  most  fatiguing  day,  these  people 
have  to  trudge  a  mile  or  two  to  their  smoky  huts.  Order  your  coach- 
man to  set  them  down.  This  is  an  act  that  will  be  good  for  your 
soul;  and,  at  the  same  time,  after  your  visit  to  the  Brillons,  if  you 
return  on  foot,  that  will  be  good  for  your  body. 

FRANKLIN.     Ah!  how  tiresome  you  are! 

GOUT.  Well,  then,  to  my  office;  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that 
I  am  your  physician.  There. 

FRANKLIN.    Ohhh!  what  a  devil  of  a  physician! 

GOUT.  How  ungrateful  you  are  to  say  so!  Is  it  not  I  who,  in 
the  character  of  your  physician,  have  saved  you  from  the  palsy, 
dropsy,  and  apoplexy?  one  or  other  of  which  would  have  done  for 
you  long  ago,  but  for  me. 

FRANKLIN.  I  submit,  and  thank  you  for  the  past,  but  entreat 
the  discontinuance  of  your  visits  for  the  future;  for,  in  my  mind,  one 
had  better  die  than  be  cured  so  dolefully.  Permit  me  just  to  hint, 
that  I  have  also  not  been  unfriendly  to  you.  I  never  feed  physician 
or  quack  of  any  kind,  to  enter  the  list  against  you;  if  then  you  do 
not  leave  me  to  my  repose,  it  may  be  said  you  are  ungrateful  too. 

GOUT.  I  can  scarcely  acknowledge  that  as  any  objection.  As 
to  quacks,  I  despise  them:  they  may  kill  you  indeed,  but  cannot 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  173 

injure  me.  And,  as  to  regular  physicians,  they  are  at  last  convinced, 
that  the  gout,  in  such  a  subject  as  you  are,  is  no  disease,  but  a  remedy; 
and  wherefore  cure  a  remedy  ? — but  to  our  business, — there. 

FRANKLIN.  Oh!  Oh! — for  Heaven's  sake  leave  me;  and  I 
promise  faithfully  never  more  to  play  at  chess,  but  to  take  exercise 
daily,  and  live  temperately. 

GOUT.  I  know  you  too  well.  You  promise  fair;  but,  after  a  few 
months  of  good  health,  you  will  return  to  your  old  habits;  your  fine 
promises  will  be  forgotten  like  the  forms  of  the  last  year's  clouds. 
Let  us  then  finish  the  account,  and  I  will  go.  But  I  leave  you  with 
an  assurance  of  visiting  you  again  at  a  proper  time  and  place;  for 
my  object  is  your  good,  and  you  are  sensible  now  that  I  am  your 
real  friend. 

LETTERS 

TO   MRS.   JANE  MECOM 

New  York,  19  April,  1757. 
DEAR  SISTER, 

I  wrote  a  few  lines  to  you  yesterday,  but  omitted  to  answer  yours, 
relating  to  sister  Dowse.  As  having  their  own  way  is  one  of  the  great- 
est comforts  of  life  to  old  people,  I  think  their  friends  should  endeav- 
our to  accommodate  them  in  that,  as  well  as  in  any  thing  else.  When 
they  have  long  lived  in  a  house,  it  becomes  natural  to  them;  they 
are  almost  as  closely  connected  with  it,  as  the  tortoise  with  his 
shell;  they  die,  if  you  tear  them  out  of  it;  old  folks  and  old  trees, 
if  you  remove  them,  it  is  ten  to  one  that  you  kill  them;  so  let 
our  good  old  sister  be  no  more  importuned  on  that  head.  We 
are  growing  old  fast  ourselves,  and  shall  expect  the  same  kind  of 
indulgences;  if  we  give  them,  we  shall  have  a  right  to  receive  them  in 
our  turn. 

And  as  to  her  few  fine  things,  I  think  she  is  in  the  right  not  to 
sell  them,  and  for  the  reason  she  gives,  that  they  will  fetch  but  little ; 
when  that  little  is  spent,  they  would  be  of  no  further  use  to  her;  but 
perhaps  the  expectation  of  possessing  them  at  her  death  may  make 
that  person  tender  and  careful  of  her,  and  helpful  to  her  to  the  amount 
of  ten  times  their  value.  If  so,  they  are  put  to  the  best  use  they 
possibly  can  be. 


174  AMERICAN  PROSE 


I  hope  you  visit  sister  as  often  as  your  affairs  will  permit,  and 
afford  her  what  assistance  and  comfort  you  can  in  her  present  situa- 
tion. Old  age,  infirmities,  and  poverty,  joined,  are  afflictions  enough. 
The  neglect  and  slights  of  friends  and  near  relations  should  never  be 
added.  People  in  her  circumstances  are  apt  to  suspect  this  sometimes 
without  cause;  appearances  should  therefore  be  attended  to,  in  our 
conduct  towards  them,  as  well  as  realities.  I  write  by  this  post  to 
cousin  Williams,  to  continue  his  care,  which  I  doubt  not  he  will  do. 

We  expect  to  sail  in  about  a  week,  so  that  I  can  hardly  hear  from 
you  again  on  this  side  the  water;  but  let  me  have  a  line  from  you 
now  and  then,  while  I  am  in  London.  I  expect  to  stay  there  at  least 
a  twelvemonth.  Direct  your  letters  to  be  left  for  me  at  the  Penn- 
sylvania Coffee-house,  in  Birchin  Lane,  London.  My  love  to  all, 
from,  dear  sister,  your  affectionate  brother, 

B.  FRANKLIN 

P.S.  April  25th.  We  are  still  here,  and  perhaps  may  be  here 
a  week  longer.  Once  more  adieu,  my  dear  sister. 

TO   BENJAMIN  WEBB 

Passy,  22  April,  1764. 
DEAR  SIR, 

I  received  yours  of  the  isth  instant,  and  the  memorial  it  enclosed. 
The  account  they  give  of  your  situation  grieves  me.  I  send  you 
herewith  a  bill  for  ten  louis  d'ors.  I  do  not  pretend  to  give  such  a  sum; 
I  only  lend  it  to  you.  When  you  shall  return  to  your  country  with 
a  good  character,  you  cannot  fail  of  getting  into  some  business,  that 
will  in  time  enable  you  to  pay  all  your  debts.  In  that  case,  when 
you  meet  with  another  honest  man  in  similar  distress,  you  must  pay 
me  by  lending  this  sum  to  him;  enjoining  him  to  discharge  the  debt 
by  a  like  operation,  when  he  shall  be  able,  and  shall  meet  with  such 
another  opportunity.  I  hope  it  may  thus  go  through  many  hands, 
before  it  meets  with  a  knave  that  will  stop  its  progress.  This  is  a 
trick  of  mine  for  doing  a  deal  of  good  with  a  little  money.  I  am  not 
rich  enough  to  afford  much  in  good  works,  and  so  am  obliged  to  be 
cunning  and  make  the  most  of  a  little.  With  best  wishes  for  the  suc- 
cess of  your  memorial,  and  your  future  prosperity,  I  am,  dear  Sir, 
your  most  obedient  servant, 

B.  FRANKLIN 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  175 

TO  SAMUEL  MATHER 

Passy,  12  May,  1784. 
REVEREND  SIR, 

I  received  your  kind  letter,  with  your  excellent  advice  to  the 
people  of  the  United  States,  which  I  read  with  great  pleasure,  and 
hope  it  will  be  duly  regarded.  Such  writings,  though  they  may  be 
lightly  passed  over  by  many  readers,  yet,  if  they  make  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  one  active  mind  in  a  hundred,  the  effects  may  be  considerable. 
Permit  me  to  mention  one  little  instance,  which,  though  it  relates  to 
myself,  will  not  be  quite  uninteresting  to  you.  When  I  was  a  boy, 
I  met  with  a  book,  entitled  "Essays  to  do  Good,"  which  I  think  was 
written  by  your  father.  It  had  been  so  little  regarded  by  a  former 
possessor,  that  several  leaves  of  it  were,  torn  out;  but  the  remainder 
gave  me  such  a  turn  of  thinking,  as  to  have  an  influence  on  my  con- 
duct through  life;  for  I  have  always  set  a  greater  value  on  the  char- 
acter of  a  doer  of  good,  than  on  any  other  kind  of  reputation;  and  if 
I  have  been,  as  you  seem  to  think,  a  useful  citizen,  the  public  owes 
the  advantage  of  it  to  that  book. 

You  mention  your  being  in  your  seventy-eighth  year;  I  am  in 
my  seventy-ninth ;  we  are  grown  old  together.  It  is  now  more  than 
sixty  years  since  I  left  Boston,  but  I  remember  well  both  your  father 
and  grandfather,  having  heard  them  both  in  the  pulpit,  and  seen 
them  in  their  houses.  The  last  tune  I  saw  your  father  was  in  the 
beginning  of  1724,  when  I  visited  him  after  my  first  trip  to  Penn- 
sylvania. He  received  me  in  his  library,  and  on  my  taking  leave 
showed  me  a  shorter  way  out  of  the  house  through  a  narrow  passage, 
which  was  crossed  by  a  beam  over  head.  We  were  still  talking  as 
I  withdrew,  he  accompanying  me  behind,  and  I  turning  partly  towards 
him,  when  he  said  hastily,  "Stoop,  stoop!"  I  did  not  understand 
him,  till  I  felt  my  head  hit  against  the  beam.  He  was  a  man  that 
never  missed  any  occasion  of  giving  instruction,  and  upon  this  he 
said  to  me:  "  You  are  young,  and  have  the  world  before  you;  STOOP  as 
you  go  through  it,  and  you  will  miss  many  hard  thumps."  This  advice, 
thus  beat  into  my  head,  has  frequently  been  of  use  to  me;  and  I  often 
think  of  it,  when  I  see  pride  mortified,  and  misfortunes  brought  upon 
people  by  their  carrying  their  heads  too  high. 

I  long  much  to  see  again  my  native  place,  and  to  lay  my  bones 
there.  I  left  it  in  1723;  I  visited  it  in  1733,  1743,  1753,  and  1763. 


176  AMERICAN  PROSE 


In  1773  I  was  in  England;  in  1775  I  had  a  sight  of  it,  but  could  not 
enter,  it  being  in  possession  of  the  enemy.  I  did  hope  to  have  been 
there  in  1783,  but  could  not  obtain  my  dismission  from  this  employ- 
ment here;  and  now  I  fear  I  shall  never  have  that  happiness.  My 
best  wishes  however  attend  my  dear  country.  Esto  perpetua.  It 
is  now  blest  with  an  excellent  constitution;  may  it  last  for  ever! 

This  powerful  monarchy  continues  its  friendship  for  the  United 
States.  It  is  a  friendship  of  the  utmost  importance  to  our  security, 
and  should  be  carefully  cultivated.  Britain  has  not  yet  well  digested 
the  loss  of  its  dominion  over  us,  and  has  still  at  times  some  flattering 
hopes  of  recovering  it.  Accidents  may  increase  those  hopes,  and 
encourage  dangerous  attempts.  A  breach  between  us  and  France 
would  infallibly  bring  the  English  again  upon  our  backs;  and  yet 
we  have  some  wild  heads  among  our  countrymen,  who  are  endeavour- 
ing to  weaken  that  connexion!  Let  us  preserve  our  reputation  by 
performing  our  engagements;  our  credit  by  fulfilling  our  contracts; 
and  friends  by  gratitude  and  kindness;  for  we  know  not  how  soon  we 
may  again  have  occasion  for  all  of  them.  With  great  and  sincere 
esteem,  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  &c.,  g  FRANKLIN 

JOHN  DICKINSON 

FROM 

LETTERS  FROM  A  FARMER  IN  PENNSYLVANIA 

LETTER  I 

My  dear  COUNTRYMEN, 

I  am  a  Farmer,  settled,  after  a  variety  of  fortunes,  near  the  banks 
of  the  river  Delaware,  in  the  province  of  Pennsylvania.  I  received  a 
liberal  education,  and  have  been  engaged  in  the  busy  scenes  of  life; 
but  am  now  convinced,  that  a  man  may  be  as  happy  without  bustle, 
as  with  it.  My  farm  is  small;  my  servants  are  few,  and  good;  I 
have  a  little  money  at  interest;  I  wish  for  no  more;  my  employment 
in  my  own  affairs  is  easy;  and  with  a  contented  grateful  mind,  un- 
disturbed by  worldly  hopes  or  fears,  relating  to  myself,  I  am  compleat- 
ing  the  number  of  days  allotted  to  me  by  divine  goodness. 

Being  generally  master  of  my  time,  I  spend  a  good  deal  of  it  in  a 
library,  which  I  think  the  most  valuable  part  of  my  small  estate;  and 


JOHN  DICKINSON  177 


being  acquainted  with  two  or  three  gentlemen  of  abilities  and  learning, 
who  honor  me  with  their  friendship,  I  have  acquired,  I  believe,  a 
greater  knowledge  in  history,  and  the  laws  and  constitution  of  my 
country,  than  is  generally  attained  by  men  of  my  class,  many  of  them 
not  being  so  fortunate  as  I  have  been  in  the  opportunities  of  getting 
information. 

From  my  infancy  I  was  taught  to  love  humanity  and  liberty. 
Enquiry  and  experience  have  since  confirmed  my  reverence  for  the 
lessons  then  given  me,  by  convincing  me  more  fuUy  of  their  truth 
and  excellence.  Benevolence  towards  mankind,  excites  wishes  for 
their  welfare,  and  such  wishes  endear  the  means  of  fulfilling  them. 
These  can  be  found  in  liberty  only,  and  therefore  her  sacred  cause 
ought  to  be  espoused  by  every  man,  on  every  occasion,  to  the  utmost 
of  his  power.  As  a  charitable,  but  poor  person  does  not  withhold 
his  mite,  because  he  cannot  relieve  all  the  distresses  of  the  miserable, 
so  should  not  any  honest  man  suppress  his  sentiments  concerning 
freedom,  however  small  their  influence  is  likely  to  be.  Perhaps  he 
"may  touch  some  wheel,"  that  will  have  an  effect  greater  than  he 
could  reasonably  expect. 

These  being  my  sentiments,  I  am  encouraged  to  offer  to  you,  my 
countrymen,  my  thoughts  on  some  late  transactions,  that  appear  to 
me  to  be  of  the  utmost  importance  to  you.  Conscious  of  my  own 
defects,  I  have  waited  some  time,  in  expectation  of  seeing  the  subject 
treated  by  persons  much  better  qualified  for  the  task;  but  being 
therein  disappointed,  and  apprehensive  that  longer  delays  will  be 
injurious,  I  venture  at  length  to  request  the  attention  of  the  public, 
praying,  that  these  lines  may  be  read  with  the  same  zeal  for  the 
happiness  of  British  America,  with  which  they  were  wrote. 

With  a  good  deal  of  surprize  I  have  observed,  that  little  notice  has 
been  taken  of  an  act  of  parliament,  as  injurious  in  its  principle  to  the 
liberties  of  these  colonies,  as  the  Stamp- Act  was:  I  mean  the  act  for 
suspending  the  legislation  of  New-York. 

The  assembly  of  that  government  complied  with  a  former  act 
of  parliament,  requiring  certain  provisions  to  be  made  for  the  troops 
in  America,  in  every  particular,  I  think,  except  the  articles  of  salt, 
pepper  and  vinegar.  In  my  opinion  they  acted  imprudently,  con- 
sidering all  circumstances,  in  not  complying  so  far  as  would  have  given 
satisfaction,  as  several  colonies  did:  But  my  dislike  of  their  conduct 


178  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  that  instance,  has  not  blinded  me  so  much,  that  I  cannot  plainly 
perceive,  that  they  have  been  punished  in  a  manner  pernicious  to 
American  freedom,  and  justly  alarming  to  all  the  colonies. 

If  the  British  parliament  has  a  legal  authority  to  issue  an  order, 
that  we  shall  furnish  a  single  article  for  the  troops  here,  and  to  compel 
obedience  to  that  order,  they  have  the  same  right  to  issue  an  order 
for  us  to  supply  those  troops  with  arms,  deaths,  and  every  necessary; 
and  to  compel  obedience  to  thai  order  also;  in  short,  to  lay  any 
burthens  they  please  upon  us.  What  is  this  but  taxing  us  at  a 
certain  sum,  and  leaving  to  us  only  the  manner  of  raising  it  ?  How 
is  this  mode  more  tolerable  than  the  Stamp-Act?  Would  that 
act  have  appeared  more  pleasing  to  Americans,  if  being  ordered 
thereby  to  raise  the  sum  total  of  the  taxes,  the  mighty  privilege 
had  been  left  to  them,  of  saying  how  much  should  be  paid  for  an 
instrument  of  writing  on  paper,  and  how  much  for  another  on 
parchment  ? 

An  act  of  parliament,  commanding  us  to  do  a  certain  thing,  if 
it  has  any  validity,  is  a  tax  upon  us  for  the  expence  that  accrues  in 
complying  with  it;  and  for  this  reason,  I  believe,  every  colony  on  the 
continent,  that  chose  to  give  a  mark  of  their  respect  for  Great-Britain, 
in  complying  with  the  act  relating  to  the  troops,  cautiously  avoided 
the  mention  of  that  act,  lest  their  conduct  should  be  attributed  to  its 
supposed  obligation. 

The  matter  being  thus  stated,  the  assembly  of  New-York  either 
had,  or  had  not,  a  right  to  refuse  submission  to  that  act.  If  they  had, 
and  I  imagine  no  American  will  say  they  had  not,  then  the  parliament 
had  no  right  to  compel  them  to  execute  it.  If  they  had  not  this  right, 
they  had  no  right  to  punish  them  for  not  executing  it;  and  therefore 
no  right  to  suspend  their  legislation,  which  is  a  punishment.  In  fact, 
if  the  people  of  New-York  cannot  be  legally  taxed  but  by  their  own 
representatives,  they  cannot  be  legally  deprived  of  the  privilege  of 
legislation,  only  for  insisting  on  that  exclusive  privilege  of  taxation. 
If  they  may  be  legally  deprived  in  such  a  case,  of  the  privilege  of 
legislation,  why  may  they  not,  with  equal  reason,  be  deprived  of 
every  other  privilege  ?  Or  why  may  not  every  colony  be  treated  in 
the  same  manner,  when  any  of  them  shall  dare  to  deny  their  assent 
to  any  impositions,  that  shall  be  directed?  Or  what  signifies  the 
repeal  of  the  Stamp- Act,  if  these  colonies  are  to  lose  their  other  privi- 
leges, by  not  tamely  surrendering  that  of  taxation  ? 


JOHN  DICKINSON  179 


There  is  one  consideration  arising  from  this  suspension,  which  is 
not  generally  attended  to,  but  shews  its  importance  very  clearly.  It 
was  not  necessary  that  this  suspension  should  be  caused  by  an  act 
of  parliament.  The  crown  might  have  restrained  the  governor  of 
New-York,  even  from  calling  the  assembly  together,  by  its  prerogative 
in  the  royal  governments.  This  step,  I  suppose,  would  have  been 
taken,  if  the  conduct  of  the  assembly  of  New-York  had  been  regarded 
as  an  act  of  disobedience  to  the  crown  alone;  but  it  is  regarded  as  an 
act  of  "disobedience  to  the  authority  of  the  BRITISH  LEGISLATURE." 
This  gives  the  suspension  a  consequence  vastly  more  affecting.  It 
is  a  parliamentary  assertion  of  the  supreme  authority  of  the  British 
legislature  over  these  colonies,  in  the  point  of  taxation,  and  is  intended 
to  COMPEL  New-York  into  a  submission  to  that  authority.  It  seems 
therefore  to  me  as  much  a  violation  of  the  liberties  of  the  people  of 
that  province,  and  consequently  of  all  these  colonies,  as  if  the  parlia- 
ment had  sent  a  number  of  regiments  to  be  quartered  upon  them  till 
they  should  comply.  For  it  is  evident,  that  the  suspension  is  meant 
as  a  compulsion;  and  the  method  of  compelling  is  totally  indifferent. 
It  is  indeed  probable,  that  the  sight  of  red  coats,  and  the  hearing  of 
drums,  would  have  been  most  alarming;  because  people  are  generally 
more  influenced  by  their  eyes  and  ears,  than  by  their  reason.  But 
whoever  seriously  considers  the  matter,  must  perceive  that  a  dreadful 
stroke  is  aimed  at  the  liberty  of  these  colonies.  I  say,  of  these 
colonies;  for  the  cause  of  one  is  the  cause  of  all.  If  the  parliament 
may  lawfully  deprive  New-York  of  any  of  her  rights,  it  may  deprive 
any,  or  all  the  other  colonies  of  their  rights;  and  nothing  can  possibly 
so  much  encourage  such  attempts,  as  a  mutual  inattention  to  the 
interests  of  each  other.  To  divide,  and  thus  to  destroy,  is  the  first 
political  maxim  in  attacking  those,  who  are  powerful  by  their  union. 
He  certainly  is  not  a  wise  man,  who  folds  his  arms,  and  reposes  him- 
self at  home,  viewing,  with  unconcern,  the  flames  that  have  invaded 
his  neighbour's  house,  without  using  any  endeavours  to  extinguish 
them.  When  Mr.  Hampden's  ship  money  cause,  for  Three  Shillings 
and  Four-pence,  was  tried,  all  the  people  of  England,  with  anxious 
expectation,  interested  themselves  in  the  important  decision;  and 
when  the  slightest  point,  touching  the  freedom  of  one  colony,  is 
agitated,  I  earnestly  wish,  that  all  the  rest  may,  with  equal  ardor, 
support  their  sister.  Very  much  may  be  said  on  this  subject;  but 
I  hope,  more  at  present  is  unnecessary. 


l8o  AMERICAN  PROSE 


With  concern  I  have  observed,  that  two  assemblies  of  this  province 
have  sat  and  adjourned,  without  taking  any  notice  of  this  act.  It 
may  perhaps  be  asked,  what  would  have  been  proper  for  them  to  do  ? 
I  am  by  no  means  fond  of  inflammatory  measures;  I  detest  them.  I 
should  be  sorry  that  any  thing  should  be  done,  which  might  justly 
displease  our  sovereign,  or  our  mother  country:  But  a  firm,  modest 
exertion  of  a  free  spirit,  should  never  be  wanting  on  public  occasions. 
It  appears  to  me,  that  it  would  have  been  sufficient  for  the  assembly, 
to  have  ordered  our  agents  to  represent  to  the  King's  ministers,  their 
sense  of  the  suspending  act,  and  to  pray  for  its  repeal.  Thus  we 
should  have  borne  our  testimony  against  it;  and  might  therefore 
reasonably  expect  that,  on  a  like  occasion,  we  might  receive  the  same 
assistance  from  the  other  colonies. 

Concordia  res  parvce  crescunt. 

Small  things  grow  great  by  concord. 
Nov.  <;.  A  FARMER. 


SAMUEL  SEABURY 

FROM 

FREE  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PROCEEDINGS  OF  THE 
CONTINENTAL  CONGRESS 

You  know,  my  Friends,  that  the  sale  of  your  seed  not  only  pays 
your  taxes,  but  furnishes  you  with  many  of  the  little  conveniencies, 
and  comforts  of  life;  the  loss  of  it  for  one  year  would  be  of  more 
damage  to  you,  than  paying  the  three-penny  duty  on  tea  for  twenty. 
Let  us  compare  matters  a  little.  It  was  inconvenient  for  me  this 
year  to  sow  more  than  one  bushel  of  seed.  I  have  threshed  and 
cleaned  up  eleven  bushels.  The  common  price  now  is  at  least  ten 
shillings;  my  seed  then  will  fetch  me  five  pounds,  ten  shillings.  But 
I  will  throw  in  the  ten  shillings  for  expences.  There  remain  five 
pounds:  in  five  pounds  are  four  hundred  three-pences;  four  hundred 
three-pences  currency,  will  pay  the  duty  upon  two  hundred  pounds 
of  tea,  even  reckoning  the  exchange  with  London  at  200  per  cent, 
that  is,  reckoning  100  1.  sterling,  to  be  equal  to  200  1.  currency; 
whereas  in  fact  it  is  only  equal  to  175  or  180  1.  at  the  most.  I  use 
in  my  family  about  six  pounds  of  tea:  few  farmers  in  my  neighbour- 


SAMUEL  SEABURY  181 

hood  use  so  much:  but  I  hate  to  stint  my  wife  and  daughters,  or  my 
friendly  neighbours  when  they  come  to  see  me.  Besides,  I  like  a 
dish  of  tea  too,  especially  after  a  little  more  than  ordinary  fatigue  in 
hot  weather.  Now  200  pounds  of  tea,  at  six  pounds  a  year,  will 
last  just  33  years,  and  eight  months.  So  that  in  order  to  pay  this 
monstrous  duty  upon  tea,  which  has  raised  all  this  confounded  com- 
bustion in  the  country,  I  have  only  to  sell  the  produce  of  a  bushel 
of  flax-seed  once  in  THIRTY-THREE  years.  Ridiculous! 

But,  to  leave  jesting.  The  loss  of  the  sale  of  your  seed  only  for 
one  year,  would  be  a  considerable  damage  to  you.  And  yet  the  Con- 
gress have  been  so  inattentive  to  your  interests,  that  they  have  laid 
you  under,  almost,  an  absolute  necessity  of  losing  it  the  next  year. 
They  have  decreed,  and  proclaimed  a  non-exportation,  to  commence 
in  September  next.  The  Irish  will  be  alarmed.  They  will  look  out 
somewhere  else.  Or  should  they  determine  to  send  their  ships  the 
earlier,  we  cannot,  without  the  utmost  inconvenience,  get  our  seed 
to  market  by  that  time;  especially,  not  from  the  remoter  parts  of 
the  province.  The  consequence  will  be,  that  we  must  sell  our  seed 
at  the  oil-mills  in  New- York,  just  at  the  price  the  manufacturers 
shall  please  to  give  us 

Let  us  now  attend  a  little  to  the  Non-Consumption  Agreement, 
which  the  Congress,  in  their  Association,  have  imposed  upon  us. 
After  the  first  of  March  we  are  not  to  purchase  or  use  any  East- 
India  Tea  whatsoever;  nor  any  goods,  wares,  or  merchandize  from 
Great-Britain  or  Ireland,  imported  after  the  first  day  of  December 
next:  nor  any  molasses,  syrups,  &c.  from  the  British  plantations  in 
the  West-Indies,  or  from  Dominica;  nor  wine  from  Madeira,  or  the 
Western  Islands;  nor  foreign  indigo. 

Will  you  submit  to  this  slavish  regulation? — You  must. — Our 
sovereign  Lords  and  Masters,  the  High  and  Mighty  Delegates,  in 
Grand  Continental  Congress  assembled,  have  ordered  and  directed 
it.  They  have  directed  the  Committees  in  the  respective  colonies, 
to  establish  such  further  regulations  as  they  may  think  proper,  for 
carrying  their  association,  of  which  this  Non-consumption  agreement 
is  a  part,  into  execution.  Mr.  ********  of  New- York,  under  the 
authority  of  their  High-Mightinesses,  the  Delegates,  by,  and  with 
the  advice  of  his  Privy  Council,  the  Committee  of  New- York,  hath 
issued  his  mandate,  bearing  date  Nov.  7,  1774,  recommending  it 


182  AMERICAN  PROSE 


to  the  freeholders  and  freemen  of  New- York,  to  assemble  on  the  i8th 
of  November,  to  choose  eight  persons  out  of  every  ward,  to  be  a 
Committee,  to  carry  the  Association  of  the  Congress  into  execution. 
—  The  business  of  the  Committee  so  chosen  is  to  be,  to  inspect 
the  conduct  of  the  inhabitants,  and  see  whether  they  violate  the  Asso- 
ciation. —  Among  other  things,  Whether  they  drink  any  Tea  or 

wine  in  their  families,  after  the  first  of  March;  or  wear  any  British 
or  Irish  manufactures;  or  use  any  English  molasses,  &c.,  imported 
after  the  first  day  of  December  next.  If  they  do,  their  names  are  to 
be  published  in  the  Gazette,  that  they  may  be  publickly  known,  and 
universally  contemned,  as  foes  to  the  Rights  of  British  America,  and 
enemies  of  American  Liberty. — And  then  the  parties  of  the  said  Asso- 
ciation will  respectively  break  ojf  all  dealings  with  him  or  her. — In  plain 
English, —  They  shall  be  considered  as  Out-laws,  unworthy  of  the 
protection  of  civil  society,  and  delivered  over  to  the  vengeance  of  a 
lawless,  outrageous  mob,  to  be  tarred,  feathered,  hanged,  drawn, 
quartered,  and  burnt. — 0  rare  American  Freedom! 

Probably,  as  soon  as  this  point  is  settled  in  New- York,  the  said 
Mr.  ********  in  the  plentitude  of  his  power,  by,  and  with  the  advice 
of  his  Privy  Council  aforesaid,  will  issue  his  Mandate  to  the  super- 
visors in  the  several  counties,  as  he  did  about  the  choice  of  Delegates, 
and  direct  them  to  have  Committees  chosen  in  their  respective 
districts,  for  the  same  laudable  purpose. 

Will  you  be  instrumental  in  bringing  the  most  abject  slavery  on 
yourselves  ?  Will  you  choose  such  Committees  ?  Will  you  submit 
to  them,  should  they  be  chosen  by  the  weak,  foolish,  turbulent  part 
of  the  country  people? — Do  as  you  please:  but,  by  HIM  that  made 
me,  I  will  not. — No,  if  I  must  be  enslaved,  let  it  be  by  a  KING  at  least, 
and  not  by  a  parcel  of  upstart  lawless  Committee-men.  If  I  must 
be  devoured,  let  me  be  devoured  by  the  jaws  of  a  lion,  and  not 
gnawed  to  death  by  rats  and  vermin. 

Did  you  choose  your  supervisors  for  the  purpose  of  inslaving  you  ? 
What  right  have  they  to  fix  up  advertisements  to  call  you  together, 
for  a  very  different  purpose  from  that  for  which  they  were  elected  ? 
Are  our  supervisors  our  masters  ? — And  should  half  a  dozen  foolish 
people  meet  together  again,  in  consequence  of  their  advertisements, 
and  choose  themselves  to  be  a  Committee,  as  they  did  in  many 
districts,  in  the  affair  of  choosing  Delegates,  are  we  obliged  to  submit 
to  such  a  Committee  ?— You  ought,  my  friends,  to  assert  your  own 


FRANCIS  HOPKIXSON  183 

freedom.  Should  such  another  attempt  be  made  upon  you,  assemble 
yourselves  together:  tell  your  supervisor,  that  he  has  exceeded  his 
commission: — That  you  will  have  no  such  Committees: — That  you 
are  Englishmen,  and  will  maintain  your  rights  and  privileges,  and 
will  eat,  and  drink,  and  wear,  whatever  the  public  laws  of  your  coun- 
try permit,  without  asking  leave  of  any  illegal,  tyrannical  Congress 
or  Committee  on  earth. 

But  however,  as  I  said  before,  do  as  you  please:  If  you  like  it 
better,  choose  your  Committee,  or  suffer  it  to  be  chosen  by  half  a 
dozen  Fools  in  your  neighbourhood, — open  your  doors  to  them, — 
let  them  examine  your  tea-cannisters,  and  molasses-jugs,  and  your 
wives  and  daughters  petty-coats, — bow,  and  cringe,  and  tremble,  and 
quake, — fall  down  and  worship  our  sovereign  Lord  the  Mob. — But 

I  repeat  it,  By  H n,  I  will  not. — No,  my  house  is- my  castle:  as  such 

I  will  consider  it,  as  such  I  will  defend  it,  while  I  have  breath.  No 
King's  officer  shall  enter  it  without  my  permission,  unless  supported 
by  a  warrant  from  a  magistrate. — And  shall  my  house  be  entered, 
and  my  mode  of  living  enquired  into,  by  a  domineering  Committee- 
man?  Before  I  submit,  I  will  die:  live  you,  and  be  slaves. 

Do,  I  say,  as  you  please :  but  should  any  pragmatical  Committee- 
gentleman  come  to  my  house,  and  give  himself  airs,  I  shall  shew  him 
the  door,  and  if  he  does  not  soon  take  himself  away,  a  good  hiccory 
cudgel  shall  teach  him  better  manners. 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON 

A  PRETTY  STORY 

CHAP.   I. 

Once  upon  a  Time,  a  great  While  ago,  there  lived  a  certain 
Nobleman,  who  had  long  possessed  a  very  valuable  Farm,  and  had  a 
great  Number  of  Children  and  Grandchildren. 

Besides  the  annual  Profits  of  his  Land,  which  were  very  consider- 
able, he  kept  a  large  Shop  of  Goods;  and  being  very  successful  in 
Trade,  he  became,  in  Process  of  Time,  exceedingly  rich  and  powerful; 
insomuch  that  all  his  Neighbours  feared  and  respected  him. 

With  Respect  to  the  Management  of  his  Family,  it  was  thought 
he  had  adopted  the  most  perfect  Mode  that  could  be  devised,  for  he 
had  been  at  the  Pains  to  examine  the  (Economy  of  all  his  Neighbours, 


184  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  had  selected  from  their  Plans  all  such  Parts  as  appeared  to  be 
equitable  and  beneficial,  and  omitted  those  which  from  Experience 
were  found  to  be  inconvenient.  Or  rather,  by  blending  their  several 
Constitutions  together  he  had  so  ingeniously  counterbalanced  the 
Evils  of  one  Mode  of  Government  with  the  Benefits  of  another,  that 
the  Advantages  were  richly  enjoyed,  and  the  Inconveniencies  scarcely 
felt.  In  short,  his  Family  was  thought  to  be  the  best  ordered  of 
any  in  his  Neighbourhood. 

He  never  exercised  any  undue  Authority  over  his  Children  or 
Servants ;  neither  indeed  could  he  oppress  them  if  he  was  so  disposed ; 
for  it  was  particularly  covenanted  in  his  Marriage  Articles  that  he 
should  not  at  any  Time  impose  any  Tasks  or  Hardships  whatever  upon 
his  Children  without  the  free  Consent  of  his  Wife. 

Now  the  Custom  in  his  Family  was  this,  that  at  the  End  of  every 
seven  Years  his  Marriage  became  of  Course  null  and  void;  at  which 
Time  his  Children  and  Grandchildren  met  together  and  chose  another 
Wife  for  him,  whom  the  old  Gentleman  was  obliged  to  marry  under 
the  same  Articles  and  Restrictions  as  before.  If  his  late  Wife  had 
conducted  herself,  during  her  seven  Year's  Marriage,  with  Mildness, 
Discretion  and  Integrity,  she  was  re-elected;  if  otherwise,  deposed: 
By  which  Means  the  Children  had  always  a  great  Interest  in  their 
Mother  in  Law;  and  through  her,  a  reasonable  Check  upon  their 
Father's  Temper.  For  besides  that  he  could  do  nothing  material 
respecting  his  Children  without  her  Approbation,  she  was  sole  Mis- 
tress of  the  Purse  Strings;  and  gave  him  out,  from  Time  to  Time, 
such  Sums  of  Money  as  she  thought  necessary  for  the  Expences  of 
his  Family. 

Being  one  Day  in  a  very  extraordinary  good  Humour,  he  gave  his 
Children  a  Writing  under  his  Hand  and  Seal,  by  which  he  released 
them  from  many  Badges  of  Dependance,  and  confirmed  to  them 
several  very  important  Privileges.  The  chief  were  the  two  following, 
viz.  that  none  of  his  Children  should  be  punished  for  any  Offence,  or 
supposed  Offence,  until  his  brethren  had  first  declared  him  worthy  of 
such  Punishment;  and  secondly,  he  gave  fresh  Assurances  that  he 
would  impose  no  Hardships  upon  them  without  the  Consent  of  their 
Mother  in  Law.  , 

This  Writing,  on  account  of  its  singular  Importance,  was  called 
THE  GREAT  PAPER.  After  it  was  executed  with  the  utmost  solem- 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON  185 

nity,  he  caused  his  Chaplain  to  publish  a  dire  Anathema  against  all 
who  should  attempt  to  violate  the  Articles  of  the  Great  Paper,  in  the 
Words  following. 

"In  the  Name  of  the  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost,  AMEN!  Whereas 
our  Lord  and  Master,  to  the  Honour  of  God  and  for  the  common 
Profit  of  this  Farm  hath  granted,  for  him  and  his  Heirs  forever,  these 
Articles  above  written:  I,  his  Chaplain  and  spiritual  Pastor  of  all 
this  Farm,  do  admonish  the  People  of  the  Farm  Once,  Twice,  and 
Thrice:  Because  that  Shortness  will  not  suffer  so  much  Delay  as  to 
give  Knowledge  to  the  People  of  these  Presents  in  Writing;  I  there- 
fore enjoyn  all  Persons,  of  what  Estate  soever  they  be,  that  they  and 
every  of  them,  as  much  as  in  them  is,  shall  uphold  and  maintain  these 
Articles  granted  by  our  Lord  and  Master  in  all  Points.  And  all  those 
that  in  any  Point  do  resist,  or  break,  or  in  any  Manner  hereafter 
procure,  counsel  or  any  Ways  assent  to  resist  or  break  these  Ordi- 
nances, or  go  about  it  by  Word  or  Deed,  openly  or  privately,  by  any 
Manner  of  Pretence  or  Colour:  I  the  aforesaid  Chaplain,  by  my 
Authority,  do  excommunicate  and  accurse,  and  from  the  Body  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  from  all  the  Company  of  Heaven,  and  from  all 
the  Sacraments  of  holy  Church  do  sequester  and  exclude" 


Now  it  came  to  pass  that  this  Nobleman  had,  by  some  Means  or 
other,  obtained  a  Right  to  an  immense  Tract  of  wild  uncultivated 
Country  at  a  vast  Distance  from  his  Mansion  House.  But  he  set 
little  Store  by  this  Acquisition,  as  it  yielded  him  no  Profit;  nor  was 
it  likely  to  do  so,  being  not  only  difficult  of  Access  on  Account  of  the 
Distance,  but  was  also  overrun  with  innumerable  wild  Beasts  very 
fierce  and  savage;  so  that  it  would  be  extremely  dangerous  to  attempt 
taking  Possession  of  it. 

In  Process  of  Time,  however,  some  of  his  Children,  more  stout  and 
enterprising  than  the  rest,  requested  Leave  of  their  Father  to  go  and 
settle  on  this  distant  Tract  of  Land.  Leave  was  readily  obtained; 
but  before  they  set  out  certain  Agreements  were  stipulated  between 
them — the  principal  were — The  old  Gentleman,  on  his  Part,  engaged 
to  protect  and  defend  the  Adventurers  in  their  new  Settlements; 
to  assist  them  in  chacing  away  the  wild  Beasts,  and  to  extend  to  them 
all  the  Benefits  of  the  Government  under  which  they  were  born: 


l86  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Assuring  them  that  although  they  should  be  removed  so  far  from  his 
Presence  they  should  nevertheless  be  considered  as  the  Children  of  his 
Family,  and  treated  accordingly.  At  the  same  Time  he  gave  each 
of  them  a  Bond  for  the  faithful  performance  of  these  Promises;  in 
which,  among  other  Things,  it  was  covenanted  that  they  should, 
each  of  them  in  their  several  Families,  have  a  Liberty  of  making  such 
Rules  and  Regulations  for  their  own  good  Government  as  they  should 
find  convenient;  provided  these  Rules  and  Regulations  should  not 
contradict  or  be  inconsistent  with  the  general  standing  Orders  estab- 
lished in  his  Farm. 

In  Return  for  these  Favours  he  insisted  that  they,  on  their  Parts, 
should  at  all  Times  acknowledge  him  to  be  their  Father;  that  they 
should  not  deal  with  their  Neighbours  without  his  Leave,  but  send 
to  his  Shop  only  for  such  Merchandize  as  they  should  want.  But  in 
Order  to  enable  them  to  pay  for  such  Goods  as  they  should  purchase, 
they  were  permitted  to  sell  the  Produce  of  their  Lands  to  certain 
of  his  Neighbours. 

These  Preliminaries  being  duly  adjusted,  our  Adventurers  bid 
Adieu  to  the  Comforts  and  Conveniencies  of  their  Father's  House, 
and  set  off  on  their  Journey — Many  and  great  were  the  Difficulties 
they  encountered  on  their  Way:  but  many  more  and  much  greater 
had  they  to  combat  on  their  Arrival  in  the  new  Country.  Here  they 
found  Nothing  but  wild  Nature.  Mountains  over-grown  with  inac- 
cessible Foliage,  and  Plains  steeped  in  stagnated  Waters.  Their  Ears 
are  no  longer  attentive  to  the  repeated  Strokes  of  industrious  Labour 
and  the  busy  Hum  of  Men;  instead  of  these,  the  roaring  Tempest 
and  incessant  Howlings  of  Beasts  of  Prey  fill  their  minds  with  Horror 
and  Dismay.  The  needful  Comforts  of  Life  are  no  longer  in  their 
Power — no  friendly  Roof  to  shelter  them  from  inclement  Skies;  no 
Fortress  to  protect  them  from  surrounding  Dangers.  Unaccustomed 
as  they  were  to  Hardships  like  these,  some  were  cut  off  by  Sfckness  and 
Disease,  and  others  snatched  away  by  the  Hands  of  Barbarity.  They 
began  however,  with  great  Perseverance,  to  clear  the  Land  of  encum- 
bering Rubbish,  and  the  Woods  resound  with  the  Strokes  of  Labour; 
they  drain  the  Waters  from  the  sedged  Morass,  and  pour  the  Sun 
Beams  on  the  reeking  Soil ;  they  are  forced  to  exercise  all  the  powers 
of  Industry  and  (Economy  for  bare  Subsistence,  and  like  their  first 
Parent,  when  driven  from  Paradise,  to  earn  their  Bread  with  the  Sweat 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON  187 

of  their  Brows.  In  this  Work  they  were  frequently  interrupted  by 
the  Incursions  of  the  wild  Beasts,  against  whom  they  defended 
themselves  with  heroic  Prowess  and  Magnanimity. 

After  some  Time,  however,  by  Dint  of  indefatigable  Persever- 
ance, they  found  themselves  comfortably  settled  in  this  new  Farm; 
and  had  the  delightful  Prospect  of  vast  Tracts  of  Land  waving  with 
luxuriant  Harvests,  and  perfuming  the  Air  with  delicious  Fruits, 
which  before  had  been  a  dreary  Wilderness,  unfit  for  the  Habitation 
of  Men. 

In  the  mean  Time  they  kept  up  a  constant  Correspondence  with 
their  Father's  Family,  and  at  a  great  Expence  provided  Waggons, 
Horses  and  Drivers  to  bring  from  his  Shop  such  Goods  and  Mer- 
chandize as  they  wanted,  for  which  they  paid  out  of  the  Produce 
of  their  Lands. 

CHAP.  m. 

Now  the  new  Settlers  had  adopted  a  Mode  of  Government  in 
their  several  Families  similar  to  that  their  Father  had  established  in 
the  old  Farm ;  in  taking  a  new  Wife  at  the  End  of  certain  Periods  of 
Time;  which  Wife  was  chosen  for  them  by  their  Children,  and  with- 
out whose  Consent  they  could  do  nothing  material  in  the  Conduct 
of  their  Affairs.  Under  these  Circumstances  they  thrived  exceed- 
ingly, and  became  very  numerous;  living  in  great  Harmony  amongst 
themselves,  and  in  constitutional  Obedience  to  their  Father  and  his 
Wife. 

Notwithstanding  their  successful  Progress,  however,  they  were 
frequently  annoyed  by  the  wild  Beasts,  which  were  not  yet  expelled 
the  Country;  and  were  moreover  troubled  by  some  of  their  Neigh- 
bours, who  wanted  to  drive  them  off  the  Land,  and  take  Possession  of 
it  themselves. 

To  assist  them  in  these  Difficulties,  and  protect  them  from 
Danger,  the  old  Nobleman  sent  over  several  of  his  Servants,  who  with 
the  Help  of  the  new  Settlers  drove  away  their  Enemies.  But  then 
he  required  that  they  should  reimburse  him  for  the  Expence  and 
Trouble  he  was  at  in  their  Behalf;  this  they  did  with  great  Cheerful- 
ness, by  applying  from  Time  to  Time  to  their  respective  Wives,  who 
always  commanded  their  Cash. 

Thus  did  Matters  go  on  for  a  considerable  Time,  to  their  mutual 
Happiness  and  Benefit.  But  now  the  Nobleman's  Wife  began  to 


i88  AMERICAN  PROSE 


cast  an  avaricious  Eye  upon  the  new  Settlers;  saying  to  herself,  if 
by  the  natural  Consequence  of  their  Intercourse  with  us  my  Wealth 
and  Power  are  so  much  increased,  how  much  more  would  they  accumu- 
late if  I  can  persuade  them  that  all  they  have  belonged  to  us,  and 
therefore  I  may  at  any  Time  demand  from  them  such  Part  of  their 
Earnings  as  I  please.  At  the  same  Time  she  was  fully  sensible  of 
the  Promises  and  agreements  her  Husband  had  made  when  they 
left  the  old  Farm,  and  of  the  Tenor  and  Purport  of  the  Great  Paper. 
She  therefore  thought  it  necessary  to  proceed  with  great  Caution 
and  Art,  and  endeavoured  to  gain  her  Point  by  imperceptible 
Steps. 

In  Order  to  this,  she  first  issued  an  Edict  setting  forth,  That 
whereas  the  Tailors  of  her  Family  were  greatly  injured  by  the  People 
of  the  new  Farm,  inasmuch  as  they  presumed  to  make  their  own 
Clothes  whereby  the  said  Tailors  were  deprived  of  the  Benefit  of  their 
Custom ;  it  was  therefore  ordained  that  for  the  future  the  new  Settlers 
should  not  be  permitted  to  have  amongst  them  any  Shears  or  Scissars 
larger  than  a  certain  fixed  size.  In  Consequence  of  this,  our  Adven- 
turers were  compelled  to  have  their  Clothes  made  by  their  Father's 
Tailors:  But  out  of  Regard  to  the  old  Gentleman,  they  patiently 
submitted  to  this  Grievance. 

Encouraged  by  this  Success,  she  proceeded  in  her  Plan.  Observ- 
ing that  the  new  Settlers  were  very  fond  of  a  particular  Kind  of  Cyder 
which  they  purchased  of  a  Neighbour,  who  was  in  Friendship  with 
their  Father  (the  Apples  proper  for  making  this  Cyder  not  growing  on 
their  own  Farm)  she  published  another  Edict,  obliging  them  to  pay 
her  a  certain  Stipend  for  every  Barrel  of  Cyder  used  in  their  Families! 
To  this  likewise  they  submitted:  Not  yet  seeing  the  Scope  of  her 
Designs  against  them. 

After  this  Manner  she  proceeded,  imposing  Taxes  upon  them  on 
various  Pretences,  and  receiving  the  Fruits  of  their  Industry  with  both 
Hands.  Moreover  she  persuaded  her  Husband  to  send  amongst 
them  from  Time  to  Time  a  Number  of  the  most  lazy  and  useless  of 
his  Servants,  under  the  specious  Pretext  of  defending  them  in  their 
Settlements,  and  of  assisting  to  destroy  the  wild  Beasts;  but  in  Fact 
to  rid  his  own  House  of  their  Company,  not  having  Employment  for 
them;  and  at  the  same  Time  to  be  a  Watch  and  a  Check  upon  the 
People  of  the  new  Farm. 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON  189 

It  was  likewise  ordered  that  these  Protectors,  as  they  were  called, 
should  be  supplied  with  Bread  and  Butter  cut  in  a  particular  Form: 
But  the  Head  of  one  of  the  Families  refused  to  comply  with  this 
Order.  He  engaged  to  give  the  Guests  thus  forced  upon  him,  Bread 
and  Butter  sufficient;  but  insisted  that  his  Wife  should  have  the 
liberty  of  cutting  it  in  what  shape  she  pleased. 

This  put  the  old  Nobleman  into  a  violent  Passion,  inscmuch  that 
he  had  his  Son's  Wife  put  into  Gaol  for  presuming  to  cut  her  Loaf 
otherwise  than  as  had  been  directed. 


As  the  old  Gentleman  advanced  in  Years  he  began  to  neglect 
the  Affairs  of  his  Family,  leaving  them  chiefly  to  the  Management 
of  his  Steward.  Now  the  Steward  had  debauched  his  Wife,  and  by 
that  Means  gained  an  entire  Ascendency  over  her.  She  no  longer 
deliberated  what  would  most  benefit  either  the  old  Farm  or  the  new; 
but  said  and  did  whatever  the  Steward  pleased.  Nay  so  much  was 
she  influenced  by  him  that  she  could  neither  utter  Ay  or  No  but  as 
he  directed.  For  he  had  cunningly  persuaded  her  that  it  was  very 
fashionable  for  Women  to  wear  Padlocks  on  their  Lips,  and  that  he 
was  sure  they  would  become  her  exceedingly.  He  therefore  fastened 
a  Padlock  to  each  Corner  of  her  Mouth;  when  the  one  was  open, 
she  could  only  say  Ay,  and  when  the  other  was  loosed,  could  only 
cry  No.  He  took  Care  to  keep  the  Keys  of  these  Locks  himself;  so 
that  her  Will  became  entirely  subject  to  his  Power. 

Now  the  old  Lady  and  the  Steward  had  set  themselves  against  the 
People  of  the  new  Farm;  and  began  to  devise  Ways  and  Means  to 
impoverish  and  distress  them. 

They  prevailed  on  the  Nobleman  to  sign  an  Edict  against  the  new 
Settlers,  in  which  it  was  declared  that  it  was  their  Duty  as  Children 
to  pay  something  towards  the  supplying  their  Father's  Table  with 
Provisions,  and  to  the  supporting  the  Dignity  of  his  Family;  for 
that  Purpose  it  was  ordained  that  all  their  Spoons,  Knives  and  Forks, 
Plates  and  Porringers,  should  be  marked  with  a  certain  Mark,  by 
Officers  appointed  for  that  End;  for  which  marking  they  were  to  pay 
a  certain  Stipend:  And  that  they  should  not,  under  severe  Penalties, 
presume  to  make  use  of  any  Spoon,  Knife  or  Fork,  Plate  or  Porringer, 
before  it  had  been  so  marked,  and  the  said  Stipend  paid  to  the  Officer. 


190  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  Inhabitants  of  the  new  Farm  began  to  see  that  their  Father's 
Affections  were  alienated  from  them;  and  that  their  Mother  was  but 
a  base  Mother  in  Law  debauched  by  their  Enemy  the  Steward.  They 
were  thrown  into  great  Confusion  and  Distress.  They  wrote  the 
most  supplicating  Letters  to  the  old  Gentleman,  in  which  they 
acknowledged  him  to  be  their  Father  in  Terms  of  the  greatest  Respect 
and  Affection — they  recounted  to  him  the  Hardships  and  Difficulties 
they  had  suffered  in  settling  his  new  Farm;  and  pointed  out  the 
great  Addition  of  Wealth  and  Power  his  Family  had  acquired  by  the 
Improvement  of  that  Wilderness;  and  showed  him  that  all  the  Fruits 
of  their  Labours  must  in  the  natural  Course  of  Things  unite,  in  the 
long  Run,  in  his  Money  Box.  They  also,  in  humble  Terms,  reminded 
him  of  his  Promises  and  Engagements  on  their  leaving  Home,  and 
of  the  Bonds  he  had  given  them;  of  the  Solemnity  and  Importance 
of  the  Great  Paper  with  the  Curse  annexed.  They  acknowledged 
that  he  ought  to  be  reimbursed  the  Expences  he  was  at  on  then- 
Account,  and  that  it  was  their  Duty  to  assist  in  supporting  the  Dig- 
nity of  his  Family.  All  this  they  declared  they  were  ready  and  willing 
to  do;  but  requested  that  they  might  do  it  agreeable  to  the  Purport 
of  the  Great  Paper,  by  applying  to  their  several  Wives  for  the  Keys 
of  their  Money  Boxes  and  furnishing  him  from  thence;  and  not  be 
subject  to  the  Tyranny  and  Caprice  of  an  avaricious  Mother  in  Law, 
whom  they  had  never  chosen,  and  of  a  Steward  who  was  their 
declared  Enemy. 

Some  of  these  Letters  were  intercepted  by  the  Steward;  others 
were  delivered  to  the  old  Gentleman,  who  was  at  the  same  Time  per- 
suaded to  take  no  Notice  of  them;  but,  on  the  Contrary,  to  insist 
the  more"  strenuously  upon  the  Right  his  Wife  claimed  of  marking 
their  Spoons,  Knives  and  Forks,  Plates  and  Porringers. 

The  new  Settlers,  observing  how  Matters  were  conducted  in  their 
Father's  Family  became  exceedingly  distressed  and  mortified.  They 
met  together  and  agreed  one  and  all  that  they  would  no  longer  submit 
to  the  arbitrary  Impositions  of  their  Mother  in  Law,  and  their  Enemy 
the  Steward.  They  determined  to  pay  no  Manner  of  Regard  to  the 
new  Decree,  considering  it  as  a  Violation  of  the  Great  Paper.  But 
to  go  on  and  eat  their  Broth  and  Pudding  as  usual.  The  Cooks 
also  and  Butlers  served  up  their  Spoons,  Knives  and  Forks,  Plates 
and  Porringers,  without  having  them  marked  by  the  new  Officers. 


FRANCIS  HOP  KIN  SON  IQI 

The  Nobleman  at  length  thought  fit  to  reverse  the  Order  which 
had  been  made  respecting  the  Spoons,  Knives  and  Forks,  Plates  and 
Porringers  of  the  new  Settlers.  But  he  did  this  with  a  very  ill  Grace: 
For  he,  at  the  same  Time  avowed  and  declared  that  he  and  his  Wife 
had  a  Right  to  mark  all  their  Furniture,  if  they  pleased,  from  the 
Silver  Tankard  down  to  the  very  Chamber  Pots:  That  as  he  was 
their  Father  he  had  an  absolute  Controul  over  them,  and  that  their 
Liberties,  Lives  and  Properties  were  at  the  entire  Disposal  of  him  and 
his  Wife:  That  it  was  not  fit  that  he  who  was  allowed  to  be  Omni- 
present, Immortal,  and  incapable  of  Error,  should  be  confined  by  the 
Shackles  of  the  Great  Paper;  or  obliged  to  fulfil  the  Bonds  he  had 
given  them,  which  he  averred  he  had  a  Right  to  cancel  whenever  he 
pleased. 

His  Wife  also  became  intoxicated  with  Vanity.  The  Steward 
had  told  her  that  she  was  an  omnipotent  Goddess,  and  ought  to  be 
worshipped  as  such :  That  it  was  the  Height  of  Impudence  and  Dis- 
obedience in  the  new  Settlers  to  dispute  her  Authority,  which,  with 
Respect  to  them,  was  unlimited:  That  as  they  had  removed  from 
their  Father's  Family,  they  had  forfeited  all  Pretensions  to  be  con- 
sidered as  his  Children,  and  lost  the  Privileges  of  the  Great  Paper: 
That,  therefore,  she  might  look  on  them  only  as  Tenants  at  Will 
upon  her  Husband's  Farm,  and  exact  from  them  what  Rent  she 
pleased. 

All  this  was  perfectly  agreeable  to  Madam,  who  admitted  this 
new  Doctrine  in  its  full  Sense. 

The  People  of  the  new  Farm  however  took  little  Notice  of  these 
pompous  Declarations.  They  were  glad  the  marking  Decree  was 
reversed,  and  were  in  Hopes  that  Things  would  gradually  settle  into 
their  former  Channel. 

CHAP.  v. 

In  the  mean  Time  the  new  Settlers  increased  exceedingly,  and 
as  they  increased,  their  Dealings  at  their  Father's  Shop  were  propor- 
tionably  enlarged. 

It  is  true  they  suffered  some  Inconveniencies  from  the  Protectors 
that  had  been  sent  amongst  them,  who  became  very  troublesome  in 
their  Houses:'  They  seduced  their  Daughters;  introduced  Riot  and 
Intemperance  into  their  Families,  and  derided  and  insulted  the  Orders 
and  Regulations  they  had  made  for  their  own  good  Government. 


IQ2  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Moreover  the  old  Nobleman  had  sent  amongst  them  a  great  Number 
of  Thieves,  Ravishers  and  Murderers,  who  did  a  great  deal  of  Mischief 
by  practising  those  Crimes  for  which  they  had  been  banished  the  old 
Farm.  But  they  bore  these  Grievances  with  as  much  Patience  as 
could  be  expected;  not  choosing  to  trouble  their  aged  Father  with 
Complaints,  unless  in  Cases  of  important  Necessity. 

Now  the  Steward  continued  to  hate  the  new  Settlers  with  exceed- 
ing great  Hatred,  and  determined  to  renew  his  Attack  upon  their 
Peace  and  Happiness.  He  artfully  insinuated  to  the  old  Gentleman 
and  his  foolish  Wife,  that  it  was  very  mean  and  unbecoming  in  them 
to  receive  the  Contributions  of  the  People  of  the  new  Farm,  towards 
supporting  the  Dignity  of  his  Family,  through  the  Hands  of  their 
respective  Wives:  That  upon  this  Footing  it  would  be  in  their  Power 
to  refuse  his  Requisitions  whenever  they  should  be  thought  to  be 
unreasonable,  of  which  they  would  pretend  to  be  Judges  themselves; 
and  that  it  was  high  Time  they  should  be  compelled  to  acknowledge 
his  arbitrary  Power,  and  his  Wife's  Omnipotence. 

For  this  Purpose,  another  Decree  was  prepared  and  published, 
ordering  that  the  new  Settlers  should  pay  a  certain  Stipend  upon 
particular  Goods,  which  they  were  not  allowed  to  purchase  any  where 
but  at  their  Father's  Shop ;  and  that  this  Stipend  should  not  be  deemed 
an  Advance  upon  the  original  Price  of  the  Goods,  but  be  paid  on  their 
arrival  at  the  new  Farm,  for  the  express  Purpose  of  supporting  the 
Dignity  of  the  old  Gentleman's  Family,  and  of  defraying  the  Expences 
he  affected  to  afford  them. 

This  new  Decree  gave  our  Adventurers  the  utmost  Uneasiness. 
They  saw  that  the  Steward  and  their  Mother  in  Law  were  determined 
to  oppress  and  enslave  them.  They  again  met  together  and  wrote 
to  their  Father,  as  before,  the  most  humble  and  persuasive  Letters; 
but  to  little  Purpose:  A  deaf  Ear  was  turned  to  all  their  Remon- 
strances; and  their  dutiful  Requests  treated  with  Contempt. 

Finding  this  moderate  and  decent  Conduct  brought  them  no 
Relief,  they  had  Recourse  to  another  Expedient.  They  bound  them- 
selves in  a  solemn  Engagement  not  to  deal  any  more  at  their  Father's 
Shop  until  this  unconstitutional  Decree  should  be  reversed;  which 
they  declared  to  be  a  Violation  of  the  Great  Paper. 

This  Agreement  was  so  strictly  adhered  to,  that  in  a  few  Months 
the  Clerks  and  Apprentices  in  the  old  Gentleman's  Shop  began  to 


FRANCIS  HOP  KIN  SON  193 

make  a  sad  Outcry.  They  declared  that  their  Master's  Trade  was 
declining  exceedingly,  and  that  his  Wife  and  Steward  would,  by  their 
mischievious  Machinations,  ruin -the  whole  Farm:  They  forthwith 
sharpened  their  Pens  and  attacked  the  Steward,  and  even  the  old  Lady 
herself  with  great  Severity.  Insomuch  that  it  was  thought  proper 
to  withdraw  this  Attempt  likewise  upon  the  Rights  and  Liberties  of 
the  new  Settlers.  One  Part  only  of  the  new  Decree  remained  unre- 
versed — viz.  the  Tax  upon  Water  Gruel. 

Now  there  were  certain  Men  on  the  old  Farm,  who  had  obtained 
from  the  Nobleman  an  exclusive  Right  of  selling  Water  Gruel.  Vast 
Quantities  of  this  Gruel  were  vended  amongst  the  new  Settlers;  for 
it  became  very  fashionable  for  them  to  use  it  in  their  Families  in  great 
Abundance.  They  did  not  however  trouble  themselves  much  about 
the  Tax  on  Water  Gruel:  They  were  well  pleased  with  the  Reversal  of 
the  other  Parts  of  the  Decree,  and  considering  Gruel  as  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  Comfort  of  Life,  they  were  determined  to  endeavour 
to  do  without  it;  and  by  that  Means  avoid  the  remaining  effects  of 
the  new  Decree. 

The  Steward  found  his  Designs  once  more  frustrated;  but  was 
not  discouraged  by  this  Disappointment.  He  formed  another  Scheme 
so  artfully  contrived  that  he  thought  himself  sure  of  Success.  He 
sent  for  the  Persons  who  had  the  sole  Right  of  vending  Water  Gruel, 
and  after  reminding  them  of  the  Obligations  they  were  under  to  the 
Nobleman  and  his  Wife  for  their  exclusive  Privilege,  he  desired  that 
they  would  send  sundry  Waggon  Loads  of  Gruel  to  the  new  Farm, 
promising  that  the  accustomed  Duty  which  they  paid  for  their  exclu- 
sive Right  should  be  taken  off  from  all  the  Gruel  they  should  send 
amongst  the  new  Settlers:  And  that  in  Case  their  Cargoes  should 
come  to  any  Damage,  he  would  take  Care  that  the  Loss  should  be 
repaired  out  of  the  old  Gentleman's  Coffers. 

The  Gruel  Merchants  readily  consented  to  this  Proposal,  knowing 
that  if  their  Cargoes  were  sold,  they  would  reap  considerable  Profits; 
and  if  they  failed,  the  Steward  was  to  make  good  the  Damage.  On 
the  other  hand  the  Steward  concluded  that  the  new  Settlers  could  not 
resist  purchasing  the  Gruel  to  which  they  had  been  so  long  accustomed; 
and  if  they  did  purchase  it  when  subject  to  the  Tax  aforesaid,  this 
would  be  an  avowed  Acknowledgment  on  their  Parts  that  their 
Father  and  his  Wife  had  a  Right  to  break  through  the  Tenor  of  the 


194  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Great  Paper,  and  to  lay  on  them  what  Impositions  they  pleased,  with- 
out the  Consent  of  their  respective  Wives. 

But  the  new  Settlers  were  well  aware  of  this  Decoy.  They  saw 
clearly  that  the  Gruel  was  not  sent  to  accommodate,  but  to  enslave 
them;  and  that  if  they  suffered  any  Part  of  it  to  be  sold  amongst 
them,  it  would  be  deemed  a  Submission  to  the  assumed  Omnipotence 
of  the  Great  Madam. 

CHAP.   VI. 

On  the  Arrival  of  the  Water  Gruel,  the  People  of  the  new  Farm 
were  again  thrown  into  great  Alarms  and  Confusions.  Some  of  them 
would  not  suffer  the  Waggons  to  be  unloaded  at  all,  but  sent  them 
immediately  back  to  the  Gruel  Merchants:  Others  permitted  the 
Waggons  to  unload,  but  would  not  touch  the  hateful  Commodity;  so 
that  it  lay  neglected  about  their  Roads  and  Highways  until  it  grew 
sour  and  spoiled.  But  one  of  the  new  Settlers,  whose  Name  was 
Jack,  either  from  a  keener  Sense  of  the  Injuries  attempted  against 
him,  or  from  the  Necessity  of  his  Situation,  which  was  such  that  he 
could  not  send  back  the  Gruel  because  of  a  Number  of  Mercenaries 
whom  his  Father  had  stationed  before  his  House  to  watch  and  be  a 
Check  upon  his  Conduct:  He,  I  say,  being  almost  driven  to  Despair, 
fell  to  Work,  and  with  great  Zeal  stove  to  Pieces  the  Casks  of  Gruel, 
which  had  been  sent  him,  and  utterly  demolished  the  whole  Cargoe. 

These  Proceedings  were  soon  known  at  the  old  Farm.  Great 
and  terrible  was  the  Uproar  there.  The  old  Gentleman  fell  into  great 
Wrath,  declaring  that  his  absent  Children  meant  to  throw  off  all 
Dependence  upon  him,  and  to  become  altogether  disobedient.  His 
Wife  also  tore  the  Padlocks  from  her  Lips,  and  raved  and  stormed 
like  a  Billingsgate.  The  Steward  lost  all  Patience  and  Moderation, 
swearing  most  prophanely  that  he  would  leave  no  Stone  unturned 
'till  he  had  humbled  the  Settlers  of  the  new  Farm  at  his  Feet,  and  caused 
their  Father  to  trample  on  their  necks.  Moreover  the  Gruel  Mer- 
chants roared  and  bellowed  for  the  Loss  of  their  Gruel;  and  the  Clerks 
and  Apprentices  were  in  the  utmost  Consternation  lest  the  People 
of  the  new  Farm  should  again  agree  to  have  no  Dealings  with  their 
Father's  Shop — Vengeance  was  immediately  set  on  Foot,  particu- 
larly against  Jack.  With  him  they  determined  to  begin;  hoping 
that  by  making  an  Example  of  him  they  should  so  terrify  the  other 


FRANCIS  HOP  KIN  SON  195 

Families  of  the  new  Settlers,  that  they  would  all  submit  to  the  Designs 
of  the  Steward,  and  the  Omnipotence  of  the  old  Lady. 

A  very  large  Padlock  was,  accordingly,  prepared  to  be  fastened 
upon  Jack's  great  gate;  the  Key  of  which  was  to  be  given  to  the  old 
Gentleman ;  who  was  not  to  open  it  again  until  he  had  paid  for  the 
Gruel  he  had  spilt,  and  resigned  all  Claim  to  the  Privileges  of  the  Great 
Paper:  Nor  then  neither  unless  he  thought  fit.  Secondly,  a  Decree 
was  made  to  new  model  the  Regulations  and  (Economy  of  Jack's 
Family  in  such  Manner  that  they  might  for  the  Future  be  more  sub- 
ject to  the  Will  of  the  Steward.  And,  thirdly,  a  large  Gallows  was 
erected  before  the  Mansion  House  in  the  old  Farm,  and  an  Order 
made  that  if  any  of  Jack's  Children  or  Servants  should  be  suspected 
of  Misbehaviour,  they  should  not  be  convicted  or  acquitted  by  the 
Consent  of  their  Brethren,  agreeable  to  the  Purport  of  the  Great 
Paper,  but  be  tied  Neck  and  Heels  and  dragged  to  the  Gallows  at 
the  Mansion  House  and  there  be  hanged  without  Mercy. 

No  sooner  did  tidings  of  this  undue  Severity  reach  the  new  Farm, 
but  the  People  were  almost  ready  to  despair.  They  were  altogether 
at  a  Loss  how  to  act,  or  by  what  Means  they  should  avert  the  Ven- 
geance to  which  they  were  doomed:  But  the  old  Lady  and  Steward 
soon  determined  the  Matter;  for  the  Padlock  was  sent  over,  and  with- 
out Ceremony  fastened  upon  Jack's  great  Gate.  They  did  not  wait 
to  know  whether  he  would  pay  for  the  Gruel  or  not,  or  make  the 
required  Acknowledgments;  nor  give  him  the  least  Opportunity 
to  make  his  Defence — The  great  Gate  was  locked,  and  the  Key  given 
to  the  old  Nobleman,  as  had  been  determined. 

Poor  Jack  found  himself  in  a  most  deplorable  Condition.  The 
great  Inlet  to  his  Farm  was  entirely  blocked  up,  so  that  he  could 
neither  carry  out  the  Produce  of  his  Land  for  Sale,  nor  receive  from 
abroad  the  Necessaries  for  his  Family. 

But  this  was  not  all — His  Father,  along  with  the  Padlock  afore- 
said, had  sent  an  Overseer  to  hector  and  domineer  over  him  and  his 
Family;  and  to  endeavour  to  break  his  Spirit  by  exercising  every 
possible  Severity:  For  which  Purpose  he  was  attended  by  a  great 
number  of  Mercenaries,  and  armed  with  more  than  common 
Authorities. 

On  his  first  arrival  in  Jack's  Family  he  was  received  with  con- 
siderable Respect,  because  he  was  the  Delegate  of  their  aged  Father: 


196  AMERICAN  PROSE 


For,  notwithstanding  all  that  had  past,  the  People  of  the  new  Settle- 
ments loved  and  revered  the  old  Gentleman  with  a  truly  filial  Attach- 
ment; attributing  his  unkindness  entirely  to  the  Intrigues  of  their 
Enemy  the  Steward.  But  this  fair 'Weather  did  not  last. long.  The 
new  Overseer  took  the  first  Opportunity  of  showing  that  he  had  no 
Intentions  of  living  in  Harmony  and  Friendship  with  the  Family. 
Some  of  Jack's  Domesticks  had  put  on  their  Sunday  Clothes,  and 
attended  the  Overseer  in  the  great  Parlour,  in  Order  to  pay  him  their 
Compliments  on  his  Arrival,  and  to  request  his  Assistance  in  recon- 
ciling them  to  their  Father:  But  he  rudely  stopped  them  short, 
in  the  Midst  of  their  Speech;  called  them  a  Parcel  of  disobedient 
Scoundrels,  and  bid  them  go  about  their  Business.  So  saying,  he 
turned  upon  his  Heel,  and  with  great  Contempt  left  the  Room. 


Now  Jack  and  his  Family  finding  themselves  oppressed,  insulted 
and  tyrannised  over  in  the  most  cruel  and  arbitrary  Manner,  advised 
with  their  Brethren  what  Measures  should  be  adopted  to  relieve 
them  from  their  intolerable  Grievances.  Their  Brethren,  one  and  all, 
united  in  sympathising  with  their  Afflictions;  they  advised  them  to 
bear  their  Sufferings  with  Fortitude  for  a  Time,  assuring  them  that 
they  looked  on  the  Punishments  and  Insults  laid  upon  them  with 
the  same  Indignation  as  if  they  had  been  inflicted  on  themselves,  and 
that  they  would  stand  by  and  support  them  to  the  last.  But,  above 
all,  earnestly  recommended  it  to  them  to  be  firm  and  steady  in  the 
Cause  of  Liberty  and  Justice,  and  never  acknowledge  the  Omnipotence 
of  their  Mother  in  Law;  nor  yield  to  the  Machinations  of  their  Enemy 
the  Steward. 

In  the  mean  Time,  lest  Jack's  Family  should  suffer  for  Want 
of  Necessaries,  their  great  Gate  being  fast  locked,  liberal  and  very 
generous  Contributions  were  raised  among  the  several  Families  of  the 
new  Settlements,  for  their  present  Relief.  This  seasonable  Bounty 
was  handed  to  Jack  over  the  Garden  Wall — All  Access  to  the  Front 
of  his  House  being  shut  up. 

Now  the  Overseer  observed  that  the  Children  and  Domesticks 
of  Jack's  Family  had  frequent  Meetings  and  Consultations  together: 
Sometimes  in  the  Garret,  and  sometimes  in  the  Stable:  Understand- 
ing, likewise,  that  an  Agreement  not  to  deal  in  their  Father's  Shop, 


PATRICK  HENRY  197 


until  their  Grievances  should  be  redressed,  was  much  talked  of 
amongst  them,  he  wrote  a  thundering  Prohibition,  much  like  a  Pope's 
Bull,  which  he  caused  to  be  pasted  up  in  every  Room  in  the  House:  In 
which  he  declared  and  protested  that  these  Meetings  were  treasonable, 
traiterous  and  rebellious;  contrary  to  the  Dignity  of  their  Father,  and 
inconsistent  with  the  Omnipotence  of  their  Mother  in  Law:  Denoun- 
cing also  terrible  Punishments  against  any  two  of  the  Family  who 
should  from  thenceforth  be  seen  whispering  together,  and  strictly 
forbidding  the  Domesticks  to  hold  any  more  Meetings  in  the  Garret 
or  Stable. 

These  harsh  and  unconstitutional  Proceedings  irritated  Jack  and 
the  other  inhabitants  of  the  new  Farm  to  such  a  Degree  that 
************* 

Catera  desunt. 


PATRICK  HENRY 

SPEECH  IN  THE  VIRGINIA  CONVENTION  OF  DELEGATES 

No  man  thinks  more  highly  than  I  do  of  the  patriotism,  as  well 
as  abilities,  of  the  very  worthy  gentlemen  who  have  just  addressed 
the  house.  But  different  men  often  see  the  same  subjects  in  different 
lights;  and,  therefore,  I  hope  it  will  not  be  thought  disrespectful 
to  those  gentlemen,  if,  entertaining  as  I  do,  opinions  of  a  character 
very  opposite  to  theirs,  I  shall  speak  forth  my  sentiments  freely,  and 
without  reserve.  This  is  no  time  for  ceremony.  The  question  be- 
fore the  house  is  one  of  awful  moment  to  this  country.  For  my  own 
part,  I  consider  it  as  nothing  less  than  a  question  of  freedom  or  slavery. 
And  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of  the  subject,  ought  to  be  the 
freedom  of  the  debate.  It  is  only  in  this  way  that  we  can  hope  to 
arrive  at  truth,  and  fulfil  the  great  responsibility  which  we  hold  to 
God  and  our  country.  Should  I  keep  back  my  opinions  at  such  a 
time,  through  fear  of  giving  offence,  I  should  consider  myself  as  guilty 
of  treason  towards  my  country,  and  of  an  act  of  disloyalty  toward 
the  majesty  of  Heaven,  which  I  revere  above  all  earthly  kings. 

Mr.  President,  it  is  natural  to  man  to  indulge  in  the  illusions  of 
hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a  painful  truth — and 
listen  to  the  song  of  that  syren,  till  she  transforms  us  into  beasts.  Is 


1 98  AMERICAN  PROSE 


this  the  part  of  wise  men,  engaged  in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for 
liberty  ?  Are  we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  those,  who  having 
eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the  things  which  so  nearly 
concern  their  temporal  salvation  ?  For  my  part,  whatever  anguish 
of  spirit  it  may  cost,  7  am  willing  to  know  the  whole  truth;  to  know 
the  worst,  and  to  provide  for  it. 

I  have  but  one  lamp  by  which  my  feet  are  guided;  and  that  is 
the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of  judging  of  the  future 
but  by  the  past.  And  judging  by  the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what 
there  has  been  in  the  conduct  of  the  British  ministry  for  the  last 
ten  years,  to  justify  those  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been 
pleased  to  solace  themselves  and  the  house  ?  Is  it  that  insidious  smile 
with  which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received  ?  Trust  it  not,  sir;  it 
will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feet.  Suffer  not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed 
with  a  kiss.  Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  reception  of  our  peti- 
tion comports  with  those  warlike  preparations  which  cover  our  waters 
and  darken  our  land.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of 
love  and  reconciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to 
be  reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our  love  ?  Let 
us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir.  These  are  the  implements  of  war  and 
subjugation — the  last  arguments  to  which  kings  resort.  I  ask  gentle- 
men, sir,  what  means  this  martial  array,  if  its  purpose  be  not  to  force 
us  to  submission  ?  Can  gentlemen  assign  any  other  possible  motive 
for  it  ?  Has  Great  Britain  any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the  world, 
to  call  for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  armies  ?  No,  sir,  she 
has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us:  they  can  be  meant  for  no  other. 
They  are  sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon  us  those  chains,  which  the 
British  ministry  have  been  so  long  forging.  And  what  have  we  to 
oppose  to  them  ?  Shall  we  try  argument  ?  Sir,  we  have  been  trying 
that  for  the  last  ten  years.  Have  we  any  thing  new  to  offer  upon  the 
subject  ?  Nothing.  We  have  held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of 
which  it  is  capable;  but  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  Shall  we  resort  to 
entreaty  and  humble  supplication  ?  What  terms  shall  we  find,  which 
have  not  been  already  exhausted?  Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  sir, 
deceive  ourselves  longer.  Sir,  we  have  done  every  thing  that  could 
be  done,  to  avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  peti- 
tioned— we  have  remonstrated — we  have  supplicated — we  have 
prostrated  ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  inter- 


PATRICK  HENRY  199 


position  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and  parlia- 
ment. Our  petitions  have  been  slighted;  our  remonstrances  have 
produced  additional  violence  and  insult;  our  supplications  have  been 
disregarded;  and  we  have  been  spurned,  with  contempt,  from  the 
foot  of  the  throne.  In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the 
fond  hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no  longer  any  room 
for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free — if  we  mean  to  preserve  inviolate 
those  inestimable  privileges  for  which  we  have  been  so  long  con- 
tending— if  we  mean  not  basely  to  abandon  the  noble  struggle  in  which 
we  have  been  so  long  engaged,  and  which  we  have  pledged  ourselves 
never  to  abandon,  until  the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be 
obtained — we  must  fight ! — I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight ! !  An  appeal 
to  arms  and  to  the  God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us! 

They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak — unable  to  cope  with  so  formid- 
able an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger  ?  Will  it  be  the 
next  week  or  the'next  year  ?  Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  disarmed, 
and  when  a  British  guard  shall  be  stationed  in  every  house  ?  Shall 
we  gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction?  Shall  we  acquire 
the  means  of  effectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely  on  our  backs,  and 
hugging  the  delusive  phantom  of  hope,  until  our  enemies  shall  have 
bound  us  hand  and  foot  ?  Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper 
use  of  those  means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  power. 
Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty,  and  in 
such  a  country  as  that  which  we  possess,  are  invincible  by  any  force 
which  our  enemy  can  send  against  us.  Besides,  sir,  we  shall  not  fight 
our  battles  alone.  There  is  a  just  God  who  presides  over  the  destinies 
of  nations;  and  who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us. 
The  battle,  sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone;  it  is  to  the  vigilant,  the 
active,  the  brave.  Besides,  sir,  we  have  no  election.  If  we  were 
base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire  from  the  contest. 
There  is  no  retreat,  but  in  submission  and  slavery!  Our  chains  are 
forged.  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston!  The 
war  is  inevitable — and  let  it  come!!  I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come!!! 

It  is  in  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may  cry, 
peace,  peace — but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actually  begun! 
The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north  will  bring  to  our  ears  the 
clash  of  resounding  arms!  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field! 
Why  stand  we  here  idle  ?  What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish  ?  What 


200  AMERICAN  PROSE 


would  they  have  ?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  pur- 
chased at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?  Forbid  it,  Almighty 
God! — I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take;  but  as  for  me,  give 
me  liberty,  or  give  me  death! 


ETHAN  ALLEN 

FROM 

A  NARRATIVE  OF  COL.  ETHAN  ALLEN'S  CAPTIVITY 

Ever  since  I  arrived  to  a  state  of  manhood,  and  acquainted  myself 
with  the  general  history  of  mankind,  I  have  felt  a  sincere  passion  for 
liberty.  The  history  of  nations  doomed  to  perpetual  slavery,  in 
consequence  of  yielding  up  to  tyrants  their  natural-born  liberties,  I 
read  with  a  sort  of  philosophical  horror;  so  that  the  first  systematical 
and  bloody  attempt  at  Lexington,  to  enslave  America,  thoroughly 
electrified  my  mind,  and  fully  determined  me  to  take  part  with  my 
country:  And  while  I  was  wishing  for  an  opportunity  to  signalize 
myself  in  its  behalf,  directions  were  privately  sent  to  me  from  the 
then  colony  (now  State)  of  Connecticut,  to  raise  the  Green  Moun- 
tain boys ;  (and  if  possible)  with  them  to  surprise  and  take  the  fortress 
Ticonderoga.  This  enterprise  I  cheerfully  undertook;  and,  after 
first  guarding  all  the  passes  that  led  thither,  to  cut  off  all  intelligence 
between  the  garrison  and  the  country,  made  a  forced  march  from 
Bennington,  and  arrived  at  the  lake  opposite  to  Ticonderoga,  on  the 
evening  of  the  ninth  day  of  May,  1775,  with  two  hundred  and  thirty 
valiant  Green  Mountain  Boys;  and  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
that  I  procured  boats  to  cross  the  lake:  However,  I  landed  eighty- 
three  men  near  the  garrison,  and  sent  the  boats  back  for  the  rear 
guard  commanded  by  Col.  Seth  Warner;  but  the  day  began  to  dawn, 
and  I  found  myself  under  a  necessity  to  attack  the  fort,  before  the 
rear  could  cross  the  lake ;  and,  as  it  was  viewed  hazardous,  I  harangued 
the  officers  and  soldiers,  in  the  manner  following;  "  Friends  and  fellow 
soldiers,  you  have,  for  a  number  of  years  past,  been  a  scourge  and 
terror  to  arbitrary  power.  Your  valour  has  been  famed  abroad,  and 
acknowledged,  as  appears  by  the  advice  and  orders  to  me  (from  the 
General  Assembly  of  Connecticut)  to  surprize  and  take  the  garrison 
now  before  us.  I  now  propose  to  advance  before  you,  and  in  person 


ETHAN  ALLEN 


conduct  you  through  the  wicket-gate;  for  we  must  this  morning  either 
quit  our  pretensions  to  valour  or  possess  ourselves  of  this  fortress  in  a 
few  minutes;  and,  in  as  much  as  it  is  a  desperate  attempt,  (which 
none  but  the  bravest  of  men  dare  undertake)  I  do  not  urge  it  on  any 
contrary  to  his  will.  You  that  will  undertake  voluntarily,  poise  your 
firelocks." 

The  men  being  (at  this  time)  drawn  up  in  three  ranks,  each  poised 
his  firelock.  I  ordered  them  to  face  to  the  right;  and,  at  the  head  of 
the  center-file,  marched  them  immediately  to  the  wicket-gate  afore- 
said, where  I  found  a  centry  posted,  who  instantly  snapped  his  fusee 
at  me:  I  run  immediately  toward  him,  and  he  retreated  through  the 
covered  way  into  the  parade  within  the  garrison,  gave  a  halloo,  and 
ran  under  a  bomb-proof.  My  party  who  followed  me  into  the  fort, 
I  formed  on  the  parade  in  such  a  manner  as  to  face  the  two  barracks 
which  faced  each  other.  The  garrison  being  asleep,  (except  the 
Gentries)  we  gave  three  huzzas  which  greatly  surprized  them.  One 
of  the  Gentries  made  a  pass  at  one  of  my  officers  with  a  charged 
bayonet,  and  slightly  wounded  him:  My  first  thought  was  to  kill 
him  with  my  sword;  but  in  an  instant,  altered  the  design  and  fury 
of  the  blow,  to  a  slight  cut  on  the  side  of  the  head;  upon  which  he 
dropped  his  gun,  and  asked  quarter,  which  I  readily  granted  him; 
and  demanded  of  him  the  place  where  the  commanding  officer  kept; 
he  shewed  me  a  pair  of  stairs  in  the  front  of  a  barrack,  on  the  west 
part  of  the  garrison,  which  led  up  to  a  second  story  in  said  barrack, 
to  which  I  immediately  repaired,  and  ordered  the  commander  (Capt 
Delaplace)  to  come  forth  instantly,  or  I  would  sacrifice  the  whole 
garrison;  at  which  the  Capt  came  immediately  to  the  door  with  his 
breeches  in  his  hand,  when  I  ordered  him  to  deliver  to  me  the  fort 
instantly,  who  asked  me  by  what  authority  I  demanded  it:  I 
answered  him,  "In  the  name  of  the  great  Jehovah,  and  the  Conti- 
nental Congress."  (The  authority  of  the  Congress  being  very  little 
known  at  that  time)  he  began  to  speak  again;  but  I  interrupted  him, 
and  with  my  drawn  sword  over  his  head,  again  demanded  an  imme- 
diate surrender  of  the  garrison;  to  which  he  then  complied,  and 
ordered  his  men  to  be  forthwith  paraded  without  arms,  as  he  had  given 
up  the  garrison:  In  the  mean  time  some  of  my  officers  had  given 
orders,  and  in  consequence  thereof,  sundry  of  the  barrack  doors  were 
beat  down,  and  about  one  third  of  the  garrison  imprisoned,  which 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


consisted  of  the  said  commander,  a  Lieut.  Feltham,  a  conducter  of 
artillery,  a  gunner,  two  Serjeants,  and  forty  four  rank  and  file;  about 
one  hundred  pieces  of  cannon,  one  13  inch  mortar,  and  a  number 
of  swivels.  This  surprize  was  carried  into  execution  in  the  gray 
of  the  morning  of  the  loth  day  of  May,  1775.  The  sun  seemed 
to  rise  that  morning  with  a  superior  lustre;  and  Ticonderoga 
and  its  dependencies  smiled  on  its  conquerors,  who  tossed  about 
the  flowing  bowl,  and  wished  success  to  Congress,  and  the  liberty 
and  freedom  of  America. 


THOMAS  PAINE 

FROM 

COMMON  SENSE 

I  challenge  the  warmest  advocate  for  reconciliation,  to  shew  a 
single  advantage  that  this  Continent  can  reap,  by  being  connected 
with  Great  Britain.  I  repeat  the  challenge,  not  a  single  advantage 
is  derived.  Our  corn  will  fetch  its  price  in  any  market  in 'Europe 
and  our  imported  goods  must  be  paid  for  buy  them  where  we 
will. 

But  the  injuries  and  disadvantages  which  we  sustain  by  that 
connection,  are  without  number,  and  our  duty  to  mankind  at  large, 
as  well  as  to  ourselves,  instruct  us  to  renounce  the  alliance:  because 
any  submission  to,  or  dependance  on  Great  Britain,  tends  directly 
to  involve  this  Continent  in  European  wars  and  quarrels.  As  Europe 
is  our  market  for  trade,  we  ought  to  form  no  political  connection  with 
any  part  of  it.  'Tis  the  true  interest  of  America,  to  steer  clear  of 
European  contentions,  which  she  never  can  do,  while  by  her  de- 
pendance on  Britain,  she  is  made  the  make-weight  in  the  scale  of 
British  politics. 

Europe  is  too  thickly  planted  with  Kingdoms,  to  be  long  at  peace, 
and  whenever  a  war  breaks  out  between  England  and  any  foreign 
power,  the  trade  of  America  goes  to  ruin,  because  of  her  connection 
with  Britain.  The  next  war  may  not  turn  out  like  the  last,  and 
should  it  not,  the  advocates  for  reconciliation  now,  will  be  wishing 
for  separation  then,  because  neutrality  in  that  case,  would  be  a  safer 
convoy  than  a  man  of  war.  Every  thing  that  is  right  or  reasonable 


THOMAS  PAINE  203 


pleads  for  separation.  The  blood  of  the  slain,  the  weeping  voice  of 
nature  cries,  Tis  TIME  TO  PART.  Even  the  distance  at  which  the 
Almighty  hath  placed  England  and  America,  is  a  strong  and  natural 
proof,  that  the  authority  of  the  one  over  the  other,  was  never  the 
design  of  Heaven.  The  time  likewise  at  which  the  Continent  was  dis- 
covered, adds  weight  to  the  argument,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was 

peopled  encreases  the  force  of  it. The  Reformation  was  preceded 

by  the  discovery  of  America;  As  if  the  Almighty  graciously  meant  to 
open  a  sanctuary  to  the  persecuted  in  future  years,  when  home  should 
afford  neither  friendship  nor  safety. 

The  authority  of  Great  Britain  over  this  Continent  is  a  form  of 
Government  which  sooner  or  later  must  have  an  end:  And  a  serious 
mind  can  draw  no  true  pleasure  by  looking  forward,  under  the  painful 
and  positive  conviction,  that  what  he  calls  "the  present  constitution," 
is  merely  temporary.  As  parents,  we  can  have  no  joy,  knowing  that 
government  is  not  sufficiently  lasting  to  ensure  any  thing  which  we 
may  bequeath  to  posterity:  And  by  a  plain  method  of  argument,  as 
we  are  running  the  next  generation  into  debt,  we  ought  to  do  the  work 
of  it,  otherwise  we  use  them  meanly  and  pitifully.  In  order  to  dis- 
cover the  line  of  our  duty  rightly,  we  should  take  our  children  in  our 
hand,  and  fix  our  station  a  few  years  farther  into  life;  that  eminence 
will  present  a  prospect,  which  a  few  present  fears  and  prejudices 
conceal  from  our  sight. 

Though  I  would  carefully  avoid  giving  unnecessary  offence,  yet 
I  am  inclined  to  believe,  that  all  those  who  espouse  the  doctrine  of 
reconciliation,  may  be  included  within  the  following  descriptions. 
Interested  men  who  are  not  to  be  trusted,  weak  men  who  cannot 
see,  prejudiced  men  who  will  not  see,  and  a  certain  set  of  moderate 
men  who  think  better  of  the  European  world  than  it  deserves;  and 
this  last  class,  by  an  ill-judged  deliberation,  will  be  the  cause  of  more 
calamities  to  this  Continent,  than  all  the  other  three. 

It  is  the  good  fortune  of  many  to  live  distant  from  the  scene  of 
present  sorrow;  the  evil  is  not  sufficiently  brought  to  their  doors 
to  make  them  feel  the  precariousness  with  which  all  American 
property  is  possessed.  But  let  our  imaginations  transport  us  for  a 
few  moments  to  Boston;  that  seat  of  wretchedness  will  teach  us 
wisdom,  and  instruct  us  for  ever  to  renounce  a  power  in  whom  we 
can  have  no  trust.  The  inhabitants  of  that  unfortunate  city  who 


204  AMERICAN  PROSE 


but  a  few  months  ago  were  in  ease  and  affluence,  have  now  no  other 
alternative  than  to  stay  and  starve,  or  turn  out  to  beg.  Endangered 
by  the  fire  of  their  friends  if  they  continue  within  the  city,  and  plun- 
dered by  government  if  they  leave  it.  In  their  present  condition 
they  are  prisoners  without  the  hope  of  redemption,  and  hi  a  general 
attack  for  their  relief,  they  would  be  exposed  to  the  fury  of  both 
armies. 

Men  of  passive  tempers  look  somewhat  lightly  over  the  offences 
of  Britain,  and  still  hoping  for  the  best,  are  apt  to  call  out,  Come,  come, 
we  shall  be  friends  again  for  all  this.  But  examine  the  passions  and 
feelings  of  mankind :  bring  the  doctrine  of  reconciliation  to  the  touch- 
stone of  nature,  and  then  tell  me,  whether  you  can  hereafter  love, 
honour,  and  faithfully  serve  the  power  that  hath  carried  fire  and  sword 
into  your  land  ?  If  you  cannot  do  all  these,  then  are  you  only  deceiv- 
ing yourselves,  and  by  your  delay  bringing  ruin  upon  posterity.  Your 
future  connection  with  Britain  whom  you  can  neither  lovenor  honour, 
will  be  forced  and  unnatural,  and  being  formed  only  on  the  plan  of 
present  convenience,  will  in  a  little  time,  fall  into  a  relapse  more 
wretched  than  the  first.  But  if  you  say,  you  can  still  pass  the  viola- 
tions over,  then  I  ask,  hath  your  house  been  burnt?  Hath  your 
property  been  destroyed  before  your  face?  Are  your  wife  and 
children  destitute  of  a  bed  to  lie  on,  or  bread  to  live  on?  Have 
you  lost  a  parent  or  a  child  by  their  hands,  and  yourself  the 
ruined  and  wretched  survivor  ?  If  you  have  not,  then  are  you  not 
a  judge  of  those  who  have.  But  if  you  have  and  still  can  shake 
hands  with  the  murderers,  then  are  you  unworthy  the  name  of 
husband,  father,  friend,  or  lover,  and  whatever  may  be  your  rank 
or  title  in  life,  you  have  the  heart  of  a  coward,  and  the  spirit  of  a 
sycophant. 

This  is  not  inflaming  or  exaggerating  matters,  but  trying  them 
by  those  feelings  and  affections  which  nature  justifies,  and  without 
which,  we  should  be  incapable  of  discharging  the  social  duties  of  life, 
or  enjoying  the  felicities  of  it.  I  mean  not  to  exhibit  horror  for  the 
purpose  of  provoking  revenge,  but  to  awaken  us  from  fatal  and 
unmanly  slumbers,  that  we  may  pursue  determinately  some  fixed 
object.  Tis  not  in  the  power  of  England  or  of  Europe  to  conquer 
America,  if  she  doth  not  conquer  herself  by  delay  and  timidity.  The 
present  winter  is  worth  an  age  if  rightly  employed,  but  if  lost  or 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  205 

neglected,  the  whole  Continent  will  partake  of  the  misfortune;  and 
there  is  no  punishment  which  that  man  doth  not  deserve,  be  he  who, 
or  what,  or  where  he  will,  that  may  be  the  means  of  sacrificing  a 
season  so  precious  and  useful. 

Tis  repugnant  to  reason,  to  the  universal  order  of  things,  to  all 
examples  from  former  ages,  to  suppose,  that  this  Continent  can  long 
remain  subject  to  any  external  power.  The  most  sanguine  in  Britain 
doth  not  think  so.  The  utmost  stretch  of  human  wisdom  cannot  at 
this  time  compass  a  plan,  short  of  separation,  which  can  promise  the 
Continent  even  a  year's  security.  Reconciliation  is  now  a  falla- 
cious dream.  Nature  hath  deserted  the  connection,  and  art  cannot 
supply  her  place.  For  as  Milton  wisely  expresses,  "never  can  true 
reconcilement  grow  where  wounds  of  deadly  hate  have  pierced  so 
deep." 

Every  quiet  method  for  peace  hath  been  ineffectual.  Our  prayers 
have  been  rejected  with  disdain;  and  hath  tended  to  convince  us  that 
nothing  flatters  vanity,  or  confirms  obstinacy  in  Kings  more  than 
repeated  petitioning — and  nothing  hath  contributed  more,  than  that 
very  measure,  to  make  the  Kings  of  Europe  absolute.  Witness  Den- 
mark and  Sweden.  Wherfore,  since  nothing  but  blows  will  do,  for 
God's  sake  let  us  come  to  a  final  separation,  and  not  leave  the  next 
generation  to  be  cutting  throats  under  the  violated  unmeaning  names 
of  parent  and  child. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON 

THE    UNANIMOUS   DECLARATION   OF   THE   THIRTEEN 
UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 

WHEN  in  the  Course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  necessary  for 
one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands  which  have  connected  them 
with  another,  and  to  assume  among  the  powers  of  the  earth,  the 
separate  and  equal  station  to  which  the  Laws  of  Nature  and  of 
Nature's  God  entitle  them,  a  decent  respect  to  the  opinions  of  man- 
kind requires  that  they  should  declare  the  causes  which  impel  them 

to  the  separation. We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident, 

that  all  men  are  created  equal,  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator 
with  certain  unalienable  Rights,  that  among  these  are  Life,  Liberty 


206  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  the  pursuit  of  Happiness. — That  to  secure  these  rights,  Govern- 
ments are  instituted  among  Men,  deriving  their  just  powers  from  the 
consent  of  the  governed, — That  whenever  any  Form  of  Government 
becomes  destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is  the  Right  of  the  People  to 
alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and  to  institute  new  Government,  laying  its 
foundation  on  such  principles  and  organizing  its  powers  in  such 
form,  as  to  them  shall  seem  most  likely  to  effect  their  Safety  and 
Happiness.  Prudence,  indeed,  will  dictate  that  Governments  long 
established  should  not  be  changed  for  light  and  transient  causes ;  and 
accordingly  all  experience  hath  shewn,  that  mankind  are  more  disposed 
to  suffer,  while  evils  are  sufferable,  than  to  right  themselves  by  abol- 
ishing the  forms  to  which  they  are  accustomed.  But  when  a  long 
train  of  abuses  and  usurpations,  pursuing  invariably  the  same  Object 
evinces  a  design  to  reduce  them  under  absolute  Despotism,  it  is  their 
right,  it  is  their  duty,  to  throw  off  such  Government,  and  to  provide 
new  Guards  for  their  future  security. — Such  has  been  the  patient 
sufferance  of  these  Colonies;  and  such  is  now  the  necessity  which 
constrains  them  to  alter  their  former  Systems  of  Government.  The 
history  of  the  present  King  of  Great  Britain  is  a  history  of  repeated 
injuries  and  usurpations,  all  having  in  direct  object  the  establishment 
of  an  absolute  Tyranny  over  these  States.  To  prove  this,  let  Facts 

be  submitted  to  a  candid  world. He  has  refused  his  Assent  to 

Laws,  the  most  wholesome  and  necessary  for  the  public  good. He 

has  forbidden  his  Governors  to  pass  Laws  of  immediate  and  pressing 
importance,  unless  suspended  in  their  operation  till  his  Assent  should 
be  obtained;  and  when  so  suspended,  he  has  utterly  neglected  to 
attend  to  them. He  has  refused  to  pass  other  Laws  for  the  accom- 
modation of  large  districts  of  people,  unless  those  people  would 
relinquish  the  right  of  Representation  in  the  Legislature,  a  right 

inestimable  to  them  and  formidable  to  tyrants  only. He  has 

called  together  legislative  bodies  at  places  unusual,  uncomfortable, 
and  distant  from  the  depository  of  their  public  Records,  for  the  sole 

purpose  of  fatiguing  them  into  compliance  with  his  measures. 

He  has  dissolved  Representative  Houses  repeatedly,  for  opposing 

with  manly  firmness  his  invasions  on  the  rights  of  the  people. He 

has  refused  for  a  long  time,  after  such  dissolutions,  to  cause  others 
to  be  elected;  whereby  the  Legislative  powers,  incapable  of  Annihila- 
tion, have  returned  to  the  People  at  large  for  their  exercise;  the  State 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  207 

remaining  in  the  mean  time  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  of  invasion 

from  without,  and  convulsions  within. He  has  endeavoured  to 

prevent  the  population  of  these  States;  for  that  purpose  obstructing 
the  Laws  for  Naturalization  of  Foreigners;  refusing  to  pass  others  to 
encourage  their  migrations  hither,  and  raising  the  conditions  of  new 
Appropriations  of  Lands. He  has  obstructed  the  Administra- 
tion of  Justice,  by  refusing  his  Assent  to  Laws  for  establishing  Judi- 
ciary powers. He  has  made  Judges  dependent  on  his  Will  alone, 

for  the  tenure  of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their 

salaries. He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  New  Offices,  and  sent 

hither  swarms  of  Officers  to  harass  our  people,  and  eat  out  their 

substance. He  has  kept  among  us,  in  times  of  peace,  Standing 

Armies  without  the  Consent  of  our  legislatures. He  has  affected 

to  render  the  Military  independent  of  and  superior  to  the  Civil  power. 

He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdiction 

foreign  to  our  constitution,  and  unacknowledged  by  our  laws;  giving 
his  Assent  to  their  Acts  of  pretended  Legislation: — For  Quartering 
large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us: — For  protecting  them,  by 
a  mock  Trial,  from  punishment  for  any  Murders  which  they  should 
commit  on  the  Inhabitants  of  these  States: — For  cutting  off  our 
Trade  with  all  parts  of  the  world: — For  imposing  Taxes  on  us  without 
our  Consent: — For  depriving  us  in  many  cases,  of  the  benefits  of 
Trial  by  Jury: — For  transporting  us  beyond  Seas  to  be  tried  for 
pretended  offences: — For  abolishing  the  free  System  of  English  Laws 
in  a  neighbouring  Province,  establishing  therein  an  Arbitrary  govern- 
ment, and  enlarging  its  Boundaries  so  as  to  render  it  at  once  an 
example  and  fit  instrument  for  introducing  the  same  absolute  rule 
into  these  Colonies: — For  taking  away  our  Charters,  abolishing  our 
most  valuable  Laws,  and  altering  fundamentally  the  Forms  of  our 
Governments: — For  suspending  our  own  Legislatures,  and  declaring 
themselves  invested  with  power  to  legislate  for  us  hi  all  cases  what- 
soever.— He  has  abdicated  Government  here,  by  declaring  us  out 
of  his  Protection  and  waging  War  against  us: — He  has  plundered  our 
seas,  ravaged  our  Coasts,  burnt  our  towns,  and  destroyed  the  lives 
of  our  people. — He  is  at  this  time  transporting  large  Armies  of  foreign 
Mercenaries  to  compleat  the  works  of  death,  desolation  and  tyranny, 
already  begun  with  circumstances  of  Cruelty  &  perfidy  scarcely 
paralleled  in  the  most  barbarous  ages,  and  totally  unworthy  the  Head 


208  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  a  civilized  nation. — He  has  constrained  our  fellow  Citizens  taken 
Captive  on  the  high  Seas  to  bear  Arms  against  their  Country,  to 
become  the  executioners  of  their  friends  and  Brethren,  or  to  fall 
themselves  by  their  Hands. — He  has  excited  domestic  insurrections 
amongst  us,  and  has  endeavoured  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants  of  our 
frontiers,  the  merciless  Indian  Savages,  whose  known  rule  of  warfare, 
is  an  undistinguished  destruction  of  all  ages,  sexes  and  conditions. 
In  every  stage  of  these  Oppressions  We  have  Petitioned  for  Redress 
in  the  most  humble  terms:  Our  repeated  Petitions  have  been  answered 
only  by  repeated  injury.  A  Prince,  whose  character  is  thus  marked 
by  every  act  which  may  define  a  Tyrant,  is  unfit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a 
free  people.  Nor  have  We  been  wanting  in  attentions  to  our  Brittish 
brethren.  We  have  warned  them  from  time  to  time  of  attempts 
by  their  legislature  to  extend  an  unwarrantable  jurisdiction  over  us. 
We  have  reminded  them  of  the  circumstances  of  our  emigration  and 
settlement  here.  We  have  appealed  to  their  native  justice  and 
magnanimity,  and  we  have  conjured  them  by  the  ties  of  our  common 
kindred  to  disavow  these  usurpations,  which,  would  inevitably  inter- 
rupt our  connections  and  correspondence.  They  too  have  been  deaf 
to  the  voice  of  justice  and  of  consanguinity.  We  must,  therefore, 
acquiesce  in  the  necessity,  which  denounces  our  Separation,  and  hold 
them,  as  we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind,  Enemies  in  War,  in  Peace 

Friends. 

WE,  THEREFORE,  the  Representatives  of  the  UNITED  STATES  OF 
AMERICA,  in  General  Congress,  Assembled,  appealing  to  the  Supreme 
Judge  of  the  world  for  the  rectitude  of  our  intentions,  do,  in  the  Name 
and  by  Authority  of  the  good  People  of  these  Colonies,  solemnly 
publish  and  declare,  That  these  United  Colonies  are,  and  of  Right 
ought  to  be  FREE  AND  INDEPENDENT  STATES;  that  they  are  Absolved 
from  all  Allegiance  to  the  British  Crown,  and  that  all  political  con- 
nection between  them  and  the  State  of  Great  Britain,  is  and  ought 
to  be  totally  dissolved;  and  that  as  Free  and  Independent  States, 
they  have  full  Power  to  levy  War,  conclude  Peace,  contract  Alliances, 
establish  Commerce,  and  to  do  all  other  Acts  and  Things  which  Inde- 
pendent States  may  of  right  do. And  for  the  support  of  this 

Declaration,  with  a  firm  reliance  on  the  protection  of  divine  Provi- 
dence, we  mutually  pledge  to  each  other  our  Lives,  our  Fortunes  and 
our  sacred  Honor. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  209 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

ANSWER  TO  CONGRESS  ON  HIS  APPOINTMENT  AS 
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF 

In  Congress,  16  June,  1775. 
MR.  PRESIDENT, 

Though  I  am  truly  sensible  of  the  high  honor  done  me,  in  this 
appointment,  yet  I  feel  great  distress,  from  a  consciousness  that  my 
abilities  and  military  experience  may  not  be  equal  to  the  extensive  and 
important  trust.  However,  as  the  Congress  desire  it,  I  will  enter  upon 
the  momentous  duty,  and  exert  every  power  I  possess  in  their  service, 
and  for  the  support  of  the  glorious  cause.  I  beg  they  will  accept  my 
cordial  thanks  for  this  distinguished  testimony  of  their  approbation. 

But,  lest  some  unlucky  event  should  happen,  unfavorable  to  my 
reputation,  I  beg  it  may  be  remembered  by  every  gentleman  in  the 
room,  that  I,  this  day,  declare  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  I  do  not 
think  myself  equal  to  the  command  I  am  honored  with. 

As  to  pay,  Sir,  I  beg  leave  to  assure  the  Congress,  that,  as  no 
pecuniary  consideration  could  have  tempted  me  to  accept  this  arduous 
employment,  at  the  expense  of  my  domestic  ease  and  happiness,  I  do 
not  wish  to  make  any  profit  from  it.  I  will  keep  an  exact  account 
of  my  expenses.  Those,  I  doubt  not,  they  will  discharge;  and  that 
is  all  I  desire. 

TO  MRS.  MARTHA  WASHINGTON 

Philadelphia,  18  June,  1775. 
MY  DEAREST, 

I  am  now  set  down  to  write  to  you  on  a  subject,  which  fills  me 
with  inexpressible  concern,  and  this  concern  is  greatly  aggravated 
and  increased,  when  I  reflect  upon  the  uneasiness  I  know  it  will  give 
you.  It  has  been  determined  in  Congress,  that  the  whole  army  raised 
for  the  defence  of  the  American  cause  shall  be  put  under  my  care,  and 
that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  proceed  immediately  to  Boston  to  take 
upon  me  the  command  of  it. 

You  may  believe  me,  my  dear  Patsy,  when  I  assure  you,  in  the 
most  solemn  manner,  that,  so  far  from  seeking  this  appointment,  I 
have  used  every  endeavour  in  my  power  to  avoid  it,  not  only  from  my 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


unwillingness  to  part  with  you  and  the  family,  but  from  a  conscious- 
ness of  its  being  a  trust  too  great  for  my  capacity,  and  that  I  should 
enjoy  more,  real  happiness  in  one  month  with  you  at  home,  than  I 
have  the  most  distant  prospect  of  finding  abroad,  if  my  stay  were  to 
be  seven  times  seven  years.  But  as  it  has  been  a  kind  of  destiny,  that 
has  thrown  me  upon  this  service,  I  shall  hope  that  my  undertaking  it 
is  designed  to  answer  some  good  purpose.  You  might,  and  I  suppose 
did  perceive,  from  the  tenor  of  my  letters,  that  I  was  apprehensive 
I  could  not  avoid  this  appointment,  as  I  did  not  pretend  to  intimate 
when  I  should  return.  That  was  the  case.  It  was  utterly  out  of  my 
power  to  refuse  this  appointment,  without  exposing  my  character  to 
such  censures,  as  would  have  reflected  dishonor  upon  myself,  and 
given  pain  to  my  friends.  This,  I  am  sure,  could  not,  and  ought  not, 
to  be  pleasing  to  you,  and  must  have  lessened  me  considerably  in  my 
own  esteem.  I  shall  rely,  therefore,  confidently  on  that  Providence, 
which  has  heretofore  preserved  and  been  bountiful  to  me,  not  doubt- 
ing but  that  I  shall  return  safe  to  you  in  the  fall.  I  shall  feel  no  pain 
from  the  toil  or  the  danger  of  the  campaign;  my  unhappiness  will 
flow  from  the  uneasiness  I  know  you  will  feel  from  being  left  alone. 
I  therefore  beg,  that  you  will  summon  your  whole  fortitude,  and  pass 
your  time  as  agreeably  as  possible.  Nothing  will  give  me  so  much 
sincere  satisfaction  as  to  hear  this,  and  to  hear  it  from  your  own  pen. 
My  earnest  and  ardent  desire  is,  that  you  would  pursue  any  plan 
that  is  most  likely  to  produce  content,  and  a  tolerable  degree  of 
tranquillity;  as  it  must  add  greatly  to  my  uneasy  feelings  to  hear, 
-that  you  are  dissatisfied  or  complaining  at  what  I  really  could  not 
avoid.  . 

As  Life  is  always  uncertain,  and  common  prudence  dictates  to 
every  man  the  necessity  of  settling  his  temporal  concerns,  while  it  is 
in  his  power,  and  while  the  mind  is  calm  and  undisturbed,  I  have, 
since  I  came  to  this  place  (for  I  had  not  time  to  do  it  before  I  left 
home)  got  Colonel  Pendleton  to  draft  a  will  for  me,  by  the  directions 
I  gave  him,  which  will  I  now  enclose.  The  provision  made  for  you  in 
case  of  my  death  will,  I  hope,  be  agreeable. 

I  shall  add  nothing  more,  as  I  have  several  letters  to  write,  but 
to  desire  that  you  will  remember  me  to  your  friends,  and  to  assure 
you  that  I  am,  with  the  most  unfeigned  regard,  my  dear  Patsy, 
your  affectionate,  &c. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 


FROM 

A  LETTER  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  OF  CONGRESS 

Valley  Forge,  23  December,  1777. 
SIR, 

Full  as  I  was  in  my  representation  of  the  matters  in  the  com- 
missary's department  yesterday,  fresh  and  more  powerful  reasons 
oblige  me  to  add,  that  I  am  now  convinced  beyond  a  doubt,  that, 
unless  some  great  and  capital  change  suddenly  takes  place  in  that 
line,  this  army  must  inevitably  be  reduced  to  one  or  other  of  these 
three  things;  starve,  dissolve,  or  disperse  in  order  to  obtain  sub- 
sistence in  the  best  manner  they  can.  Rest  assured,  Sir,  this  is  not 
an  exaggerated  picture,  and  that  I  have  abundant  reason  to  suppose 
what  I  say. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  receiving  information  that  the  enemy  in 
force  had  left  the  city,  and  were  advancing  towards  Derby  with  the 
apparent  design  to  forage,  and  draw  subsistence  from  that  part  of 
the  country,  I  ordered  the  troops  to  be  in  readiness,  that  I  might 
give  every  opposition  in  my  power;  when  behold,  to  my  great  morti- 
fication, I  w^s  not  only  informed,  but  convinced,  that  the  men  were 
unable  to  stir  on  account  of  provision,  and  that  a  dangerous  mutiny, 
begun  the  night  before,  and  which  with  difficulty  was  suppressed 
by  the  spirited  exertions  of  some  officers,  was  still  much  to  be  appre- 
hended for  want  of  this  article.  This  brought  forth  the  only  com- 
missary in  the  purchasing  line  in  this  camp;  and,  with  him,  this 
melancholy  and  alarming  truth,  that  he  had  not  a  single  hoof  of  any 
kind  to  slaughter,  and  not  more  than  twenty-five  barrels  of  flour! 
From  hence  form  an  opinion  of  our  situation  when  I  add,  that  he 
could  not  tell  when  to  expect  any. 

All  I  could  do,  under  these  circumstances,  was  to  send  out  a  few 
light  parties  to  watch  and  harass  the  enemy,  whilst  other  parties 
were  instantly  detached  different  ways  to  collect,  if  possible,  as  much 
provision  as  would  satisfy  the  present  pressing  wants  of  the  soldiery. 
But  will  this  answer?  No,  Sir;  three  or  four  days  of  bad  weather 
would  prove  our  destruction.  What  then  is  to  become  of  the  army 
this  winter?  And  if  we  are  so  often  without  provisions  now,  what 
is  to  become  of  us  in  the  spring,  when  our  force  will  be  collected,  with 
the  aid  perhaps  of  militia  to  take  advantage  of  an  early  campaign, 
before  the  enemy  can  be  reinforced  ?  These  are  considerations  of 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


great  magnitude,  meriting  the  closest  attention;  and  they  will,  when 
my  own  reputation  is  so  intimately  connected  with  the  event  and  to 
be  affected  by  it,  justify  my  saying,  that  the  present  commissaries 
are  by  no  means  equal  to  the  execution  of  the  office,  or  that  the 
disaffection  of  the  people  is  past  all  belief.  The  misfortune,  however, 
does  in  my  opinion  proceed  from  both  causes;  and,  though  I  have 
been  tender  heretofore  of  giving  any  opinion,  or  lodging  complaints, 
as  the  change  in  that  department  took  place  contrary  to  my  judgment, 
and  the  consequences  thereof  were  predicted;  yet,  finding  that  the 
inactivity  of  the  army,  whether  for  want  of  provisions,  clothes,  or 
other  essentials,  is  charged  to  my  account,  not  only  by  the  common 
vulgar  but  by  those  in  power,  it  is  time  to  speak  plain  in  exculpation 
of  myself.  With  truth,  then,  I  can  declare,  that  no  man  in  my 
opinion  ever  had  his  measures  more  impeded  than  I  have,  by  every 
department  of  the  army. 

Since  the  month  of  July  we  have  had  no  assistance  from  the 
quartermaster-general,  and  to  want  of  assistance  from  this  depart- 
ment the  commissary-general  charges  great  part  of  his  deficiency. 
To  this  I  am  to  add,  that,  notwithstanding  it  is  a  standing  order,  and 
often  repeated,  that  the  troops  shall  always  have  two  days'  provisions 
by  them,  that  they  might  be  ready  at  any  sudden  call;  yet  an  oppor- 
tunity has  scarcely  ever  offered,  of  taking  an  advantage  of  the  enemy, 
that  has  not  been  either  totally  obstructed,  or  greatly  impeded,  on 
this  account.  And  this,  the  great  and  crying  evil,  is  not  all.  The 
soap,  vinegar,  and  other  articles  allowed  by  Congress,  we  see  none 
of,  nor  have  we  seen  them,  I  believe,  since  the  battle  of  Brandywine. 
The  first,  indeed,  we  have  now  little  occasion  for;  few  men  having 
more  than  one  shirt,  many  only  the  moiety  of  one,  and  some  none 
at  all.  In  addition  to  which,  as  a  proof  of  the  little  benefit  received 
from  a  clothier-general,  and  as  a  further  proof  of  the  inability  of  an 
army,  under  the  circumstances  of  this,  to  perform  the  common 
duties  of  soldiers,  (besides  a  number  of  men  confined  to  hospitals  for 
want  of  shoes,  and  others  in  farmers'  houses  on  the  same  account,) 
we  have,  by  a  field-return  this  day  made,  no  less  than  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  ninety-eight  men  now  in  camp  unfit  for  duty, 
because  they  are  barefoot  and  otherwise  naked.  By  the  same  return 
it  appears,  that  our  whole  strength  in  Continental  troops,  including 
the  eastern  brigades,  which  have  joined  us  since  the  surrender  of 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  2 13 

General  Burgoyne,  exclusive  of  the  Maryland  troops  sent  to  Wilming- 
ton, amounts  to  no  more  than  eight  thousand  two  hundred  in  camp  fit 
for  duty;  notwithstanding  which,  and  that  since  the  4th  instant, 
our  numbers  fit  for  duty,  from  the  hardships  and  exposures  they  have 
undergone,  particularly  on  account  of  blankets  (numbers  having 
_been  obliged,  and  still  are,  to  sit  up  all  night  by  fires,  instead  of 
taking  comfortable  rest  in  a  natural  and  common  way),  have  decreased 
near  two  thousand  men. 

We  find  gentlemen,  without  knowing  whether  the  army  was 
really  going  into  winter-quarters  or  not  (for  I  am  sure  no  resolution 
of  mine  would  warrant  the  Remonstrance),  reprobating  the  measure 
as  much  as  if  they  thought  the  soldiers  were  made  of  stocks  or  stones, 
and  equally  insensible  of  frost  and  snow;  and  moreover,  as  if  they 
conceived  it  easily  practicable  for  an  inferior  army,  under  the  dis- 
advantages I  have  described  ours  to  be,  which  are  by  no  means 
exaggerated,  to  confine  a  superior  one,  in  all  respects  well-appointed 
and  provided  for  a  winter's  campaign,  within  the  city  of  Philadelphia, 
and  to  cover  from  depredation  and  waste  the  States  of  Pennsylvania 
and  Jersey.  But  what  makes  this  matter  still  more  extraordinary 
in  my  eye  is,  that  these  very  gentlemen, — who  were  well  apprized 
of  the  nakedness  of  the  troops  from  ocular  demonstration,  who 
thought  their  own  soldiers  worse  clad  than  others,  and  who  advised 
me  near  a  month  ago  to  postpone  the  execution  of  a  plan  I  was  about 
to  adopt,  in  consequence  of  a  resolve  of  Congress  for  seizing  clothes, 
under  strong  assurances  that  an  ample  supply  would  be  collected  in 
ten  days  agreeably  to  a  decree  of  the  State  (not  one  article  of  which, 
by  the  by,  is  yet  come  to  hand) , — should  think  a  winter's  campaign, 
and  the  covering  of  these  States  from  the  invasion  of  an  enemy,  so 
easy  and  practicable  a  business.  I  can  assure  those  gentlemen, 
that  it  is  a  much  easier  and  less  distressing  thing  to  draw  remon- 
strances in  a  comfortable  room  by  a  good  fireside,  than  to  occupy  a 
cold,  bleak  hill,  and  sleep  under  frost  and  snow,  without  clothes  or 
blankets.  However,  although  they  seem  to  have  little  feeling  for 
the  naked  and  distressed  soldiers,  I  feel  superabundantly  for  them, 
and,  from  my  soul,  I  pity  those  miseries,  which  it  is  neither  in  my 
power  to  relieve  or  prevent. 

It  is  for  these  reasons,  therefore,  that  I  have  dwelt  upon  the 
subject ;  and  it  adds  not  a  little  to  my  other  difficulties  and  distress 


2 14  AMERICAN  PROSE 


to  find,  that  much  more  is  expected  of  me  than  is  possible  to  be  per- 
formed, and  that  upon  the  ground  of  safety  and  policy  I  am  obliged 
to  conceal  the  true  state  of  the  army  from  public  view,  and  thereby 

expose  myself  to  detraction  and  calumny 

I  have  the  honor  to  be,  &c. 

FROM 
FARE.WELL  ADDRESS 

Towards  the  preservation  of  your  Government  and  the  per- 
manency of  your  present  happy  state,  it  is  requisite,  not  only  that 
you  steadily  discountenance  irregular  oppositions  to  its  acknowledged 
authority,  but  also  that  you  resist  with  care  the  spirit  of  innovation 
upon  its  principles  however  specious  the  pretexts. — One  method 
of  assault  may  be  to  effect,  in  the  forms  of  the  Constitution,  altera- 
tions which  will  impair  the  energy  of  the  system,  and  thus  to  under- 
mine what  cannot  be  directly  overthrown. — In  all  the  changes  to 
which  you  may  be  invited,  remember  that  time  and  habit  are  at  least 
as  necessary  to  fix  the  true  character  of  Governments,  as  of  other 
human  institutions — that  experience  is  the  surest  standard,  by  which 
to  test  the  real  tendency  of  the  existing  Constitution  of  a  Country — 
that  facility  in  changes  upon  the  credit  of  mere  hypothesis  and  opinion 
exposes  to  perpetual  change,  from  the  endless  variety  of  hypothesis 
and  opinion: — and  remember,  especially,  that  for  the  efficient  manage- 
ment of  your  common  interests,  in  a  country  so  extensive  as  ours,  a 
Government  of  as  much  vigour  as  is  consistent  with  the  perfect 
security  of  Liberty  is  indispensable. — Liberty  itself  will  find  in  such  a 
Government,  with  powers  properly  distributed  and  adjusted,  its 
surest  Guardian. — It  is  indeed  little  else  than  a  name,  where  the 
Government  is  too  feeble  to  withstand  the  enterprises  of  faction,  to 
confine  each  member  of  the  Society  within  the  limits  prescribed  by 
the  laws,  and  to  maintain  all  hi  the  secure  and  tranquil  enjoyment 
of  the  rights  of  person  and  property 

Against  the  insidious  wiles  of  foreign  influence,  I  conjure  you  to 
believe  me,  fellow-citizens,  the  jealousy  of  a  free  people  ought  to  be 
constantly  awake,  since  history  and  experience  prove  that  foreign 
influence  is  one  of  the  most  baneful  foes  of  Republican  Government. 
— But  that  jealousy  to  be  useful  must  be  impartial;  else  it  becomes 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  215 

the  instrument  of  the  very  influence  to  be  avoided,  instead  of  a 
defence  against  it. — Excessive  partiality  for  one  foreign  nation 
and  excessive  dislike  of  another,  cause  those  whom  they  actuate  to 
see  danger  only  on  one  side,  and  serve  to  veil  and  even  second  the 
arts  of  influence  on  the  other. — Real  Patriots,  who  may  resist  the 
intrigues  of  the  favourite,  are  liable  to  become  suspected  and  odious; 
while  its  tools  and  dupes  usurp  the  applause  and  confidence  of  the 
people,  to  surrender  their  interests. — 

The  great  rule  of  conduct  for  us,  in  regard  to  foreign  Nations  is,  in 
extending  our  commercial  relations,  to  have  with  them  as  little 
Political  connection  as  possible. — So  far  as  we  have  already  formed 
engagements  let  them  be  fulfilled  with  perfect  good  faith. — Here 
let  us  stop. — 

Europe  has  a  set  of  primary  interests,  which  to  us  have  none,  or  a 
very  remote  relation. — Hence  she  must  be  engaged  in  frequent 
controversies,  the  causes  of  which  are  essentially  foreign  to  our  con- 
cerns.— Hence  therefore  it  must  be  unwise  in  us  to  implicate  our- 
selves by  artificial  ties  in  the  ordinary  vicissitudes  of  her  politics, 
or  the  ordinary  combinations  and  collisions  of  her  friendships,  or 
enmities. 

Our  detached  and  distant  situation  invites  and  enables  us  to  pur- 
sue a  different  course. — If  we  remain  one  People,  under  an  efficient 
government,  the  period  is  not  far  off,  when  we  may  defy  material 
injury  from  external  annoyance;  when  we  may  take  such  an  attitude 
as  will  cause  the  neutrality  we  may  at  any  time  resolve  upon  to  be 
scrupulously  respected. — When  belligerent  nations,  under  the 
impossibility  of  making  acquisitions  upon  us,  will  not  lightly  hazard 
the  giving  us  provocation;  when  we  may  choose  peace  or  war,  as  our 
interest  guided  by  justice  shall  counsel. — 

Why  forego  the  advantages  of  so  peculiar  a  situation  ? — Why  quit 
our  own  to  stand  upon  foreign  ground  ? — Why,  by  interweaving  our 
destiny  with  that  of  any  part  of  Europe,  entangle  our  peace  and 
prosperity  in  the  toils  of  European  ambition,  rivalship,  interest, 
humour  or  caprice  ? — 

Tis  our  true  policy  to  steer  clear  of  permanent  alliances,  with 
any  portion  of  the  foreign  world; — so  far,  I  mean,  as  we  are  now  at 
liberty  to  do  it — for  let  me  not  be  understood  as  capable  of  patroniz- 
ing infidelity  to  existing  engagements,  (I  hold  the  maxim  no  less 


2l6  AMERICAN  PROSE 


applicable  to  public  than  to  private  affairs,  that  honesty  is  always  the 
best  policy) . — I  repeat  it  therefore  let  those  engagements  be  observed 
in  their  genuine  sense. — But  in  my  opinion  it  is  unnecessary  and  would 
be  unwise  to  extend  them. — 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 

FROM 

THE  FEDERALIST 

FURTHER   DEFECTS   OF   THE    PRESENT   CONSTITUTION 

In  addition  to  the  defects  already  enumerated  in  the  existing 
federal  system,  there  are  others  of  not  less  importance,  which  concur 
in  rendering  it  altogether  unfit  for  the  administration  of  the  affairs  of 
the  union. 

The  want  of  a  power  to  regulate  commerce  is  by  all  parties  allowed 
to  be  of  the  number.  The  utility  of  such  a  power  has  been  antici- 
pated under  the  first  head  of  our  enquiries;  and  for  this  reason  as 
well  as  from  the  universal  conviction  entertained  upon  the  subject, 
little  need  be  added  in  this  place.  It  is  indeed  evident,  on  the  most 
superficial  view,  that  there  is  no  object,  either  as  it  respects  the 
interests  of  trade  or  finance  that  more  strongly  demands  a  federal 
superintendence.  The  want  of  it  has  already  operated  as  a  bar  to  the 
formation  of  beneficial  treaties  with  foreign  powers;  and  has  given 
occasions  of  dissatisfaction  between  the  states.  No  nation  acquainted 
with  the  nature  of  our  political  association  would  be  unwise  enough 
to  enter  into  stipulations  with  the  United  States,  conceding  on  their 
part  privileges  of  importance,  while  they  were  apprised  that  the 
engagements  on  the  part  of  the  union,  might  at  any  moment  be 
violated  by  its  members;  and  while  they  found  from  experience  that 
they  might  enjoy  every  advantage  they  desired  in  our  markets, 
without  granting  us  any  return,  but  such  as  their  momentary  con- 
venience might  suggest.  It  is  not  therefore  to  be  wondered  at,  that 
Mr.  Jenkinson  in  ushering  into  the  house  of  commons  a  bill  for 
regulating  the  temporary  intercourse  between  the  two  countries, 
should  preface  its  introduction  by  a  declaration  that  similar  provisions 
in  former  bills  had  been  found  to  answer  every  purpose  to  the  com- 
merce of  Great  Britain,  and  that  it  would  be  prudent  to  persist  in  the 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON  217 

plan  until  it  should  appear  whether  the  American  government  was 
likely  or  not  to  acquire  greater  consistency. 

Several  states  have  endeavoured  by  separate  prohibitions, 
restrictions  and  exclusions,  to  influence  the  conduct  of  that  kingdom 
in  this  particular;  but  the  want  of  concert,  arising  from  the  want  of  a 
general  authority,  and  from  clashing  and  dissimilar  views  in  the 
states,  has  hitherto  frustrated  every  experiment  of  the  kind;  and 
will  continue  to  do  so  as  long  as  the  same  obstacles  to  an  uniformity 
of  measures  continue  to  exist. 

The  interfering  and  unneighbourly  regulations  of  some  states, 
contrary  to  the  true  spirit  of  the  union,  have  in  different  instances 
given  just  cause  of  umbrage  and  complaint  to  others;  and  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  examples  of  this  nature,  if  not  restrained  by  a  national 
controul,  would  be  multiplied  and  extended  till  they  became  not  less 
serious  sources  of  animosity  and  discord,  than  injurious  impediments 
to  the  intercourse  between  the  different  parts  of  the  confederacy. 
•"The  commerce  of  the  German  empire,  is  in  continual  trammels  from 
the  multiplicity  of  the  duties  which  the  several  princes  and  states 
exact  upon  the  merchandizes  passing  through  their  territories;  by 
means  of  which  the  fine  streams  and  navigable  rivers  with  which 
Germany  is  so  happily  watered,  are  rendered  almost  useless." 
Though  the  genius  of  the  people  of  this  country  might  never  permit 
this  description  to  be  strictly  applicable  to  us,  yet  we  may  reasonably 
expect,  from  the  gradual  conflicts  of  state  regulations,  that  the  citizens 
of  each,  would  at  length  come  to  be  considered  and  treated  by  the 
others  in  no  better  light  than  that  of  foreigners  and  aliens. 

The  power  of  raising  armies,  by  the  most  obvious  construction 
of  the  articles  of  the  confederation,  is  merely  a  power  of  making 
requisitions  upon  the  states  for  quotas  of  men.  This  practice,  in  the 
course  of  the  late  war,  was  found  replete  with  obstructions  to  a 
vigorous  and  to  an  economical  system  of  defence.  It  gave  birth  to 
a  competition  between  the  states,  which  created  a  kind  of  auction 
for  men.  In  order  to  furnish  the  quotas  required  of  them,  they  out- 
bid each  other,  till  bounties  grew  to  an  enormous  and  insupportable 
size.  The  hope  of  a  still  further  increase  afforded  an  inducement 
to  those  who  were  disposed  to  serve  to  procrastinate  their  inlistment ; 
and  disinclined  them  to  engaging  for  any  considerable  periods.  Hence 
slow  and  scanty  levies  of  men  in  the  most  critical  emergencies 


2i8  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  our  affairs — short  inlistments  at  an  unparalleled  expence — 
continual  fluctuations  in  the  troops,  ruinous  to  their  discipline, 
and  subjecting  the  public  safety  frequently  to  the  perilous  crisis  of  a 
disbanded  army. — Hence  also  those  oppressive  expedients  for  raising 
men  which  were  upon  several  occasions  practised,  and  which  nothing 
but  the  enthusiasm  of  liberty  would  have  induced  the  people  to 
endure. 

This  method  of  raising  troops  is  not  more  unfriendly  to  economy 
and  vigor,  than  it  is  to  an  equal  distribution  of  the  burthen.  The 
states  near  the  seat  of  war,  influenced  by  motives  of  self  preservation 
made  efforts  to  furnish  their  quotas,  which  even  exceeded  their 
abilities,  while  those  at  a  distance  from  danger  were  for  the  most 
part  as  remiss  as  the  others  were  diligent  in  their  exertions.  The 
immediate  pressure  of  this  inequality  was  not  in  this  case,  as  in  that 
of  the  contributions  of  money,  alleviated  by  the  hope  of  a  final 
liquidation.  The  states  which  did  not  pay  their  proportions  of 
money,  might  at  least  be  charged  with  their  deficiencies;  but  no 
account  could  be  formed  of  the  deficiencies  in  the  supplies  of  men. 
We  shall  not,  however,  see  much  reason  to  regret  the  want  of  this 
hope,  when  we  consider  how  little  prospect  there  is,  that  the  most 
delinquent  states  ever  will  be  able  to  make  compensation  for  their 
pecuniary  failures.  The  system  of  quotas  and  requisitions,  whether 
it  be  applied  to  men  or  money,  is  in  every  view  a  system  of  imbecility 
in  the  union,  and  of  inequality  and  injustice  among  the  members. 

The  right  of  equal  suffrage  among  the  states  is  another  exception- 
able part  of  the  confederation.  Every  idea  of  proportion,  and  every 
rule  of  fair  representation  conspire  to  condemn  a  principle,  which 
gives  to  Rhode-Island  an  equal  weight  in  the  scale  of  power  with 
Massachusetts,  or  Connecticut,  or  New- York;  and  to  Delaware, 
an  equal  voice  in  the  national  deliberations  with  Pennsylvania  or 
Virginia,  or  North-Carolina.  Its  operation  contradicts  that  funda- 
mental maxim  of  republican  government,  which  requires  that  the 
sense  of  the  majority  should  prevail.  Sophistry' may  reply,  that 
sovereigns  are  equal,  and  that  a  majority  of  the  votes  of  the  states 
will  be  a  majority  of  confederated  America.  But  this  kind  of  logical 
legerdemain  will  never  counteract  the  plain  suggestions  of  justice 
and  common  sense.  It  may  happen  that  this  majority  of  states 
is  a  small  minority  of  the  people  of  America;  and  two  thirds  of  the 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON  219 

people  of  America,  could  not  long  be  persuaded,  upon  the  credit  of 
artificial  distinctions  and  syllogistic  subtleties,  to  submit  their  inter- 
ests to  the  management  and  disposal  of  one  third.  The  larger  states 
would  after  a  while  revolt  from  the  idea  of  receiving  the  law  from  the 
smaller.  To  acquiesce  in  such  a  privation  of  their  due  importance  in 
the  political  scale,  would  be  not  merely  to  be  insensible  to  the  love 
of  power,  but  even  to  sacrifice  the  desire  of  equality.  It  is  neither 
rational  to  expect  the  first,  nor  just  to  require  the  last — the  smaller 
states  considering  how  peculiarly  their  safety  and  welfare  depend 
on  union,  ought  readily  to  renounce  a  pretension,  which,  if  not 
relinquished  would  prove  fatal  to  its  duration. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this,  that  not  seven  but  nine  states,  or 
two  thirds  of  the  whole  number  must  consent  to  the  most  important 
resolutions;  and  it  may  be  thence  inferred,  that  rune  states  would 
always  comprehend  a  majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  union.  But 
this  does  not  obviate  the  impropriety  of  an  equal  vote  between  states 
of  the  most  unequal  dimensions  and  populousness;  nor  is  the  inference 
accurate  in  point  of  fact;  for  we  can  enumerate  nine  states  which 
contain  less  than  a  majority  of  the  people;  and  it  is  constitutionally 
possible,  that  these  nine  may  give  the  vote.  Besides  there  are 
matters  of  considerable  moment  de terminable  by  a  bare  majority; 
and  there  are  others,  concerning  which  doubts  have  been  entertained, 
which  if  interpreted  in  favor  of  the  sufficiency  of  a  vote  of  seven  states, 
would  extend  its  operation  to  interests  of  the  first  magnitude.  In 
addition  to  this,  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  there  is  a  probability  of  an 
increase  in  the  number  of  states,  and  no  provision  for  a  proportional 
augmentation  of  the  ratio  of  votes. 

But  this  is  not  all;  what  at  first  sight  may  seem  a  remedy,  is  in 
reality  a  poison.  To  give  a  minority  a  negative  upon  the  majority 
(which  is  always  the  case  where  more  than  a  majority  is  requisite  to  a 
decision)  is  in  its  tendency  to  subject  the  sense  of  the  greater  number 
to  that  of  the  lesser  number.  Congress  from  the  non  attendance  of  a 
few  states  have  been  frequently  in  the  situation  of  a  Polish  diet, 
where  a  single  VETO  has  been  sufficient  to  put  a  stop  to  all  their 
movements.  A  sixtieth  part  of  the  union,  which  is  about  the  pro- 
portion of  Delaware  and  Rhode-Island,  has  several  times  been  able 
to  oppose  an  entire  bar  to  its  operations.  This  is  one  of  those  refine- 
ments which  in  practice  has  an  effect,  the  reverse  of  what  is  expected 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


from  it  in  theory.  The  necessity  of  unanimity  in  public  bodies,  or 
of  something  approaching  towards  it,  has  been  founded  upon  a  suppo- 
sition that  it  would  contribute  to  security.  But  its  real  operation  is 
to  embarrass  the  administration,  to  destroy  the  energy  of  govern- 
ment, and  to  substitute  the  pleasure,  caprice  or  artifices  of  an  insignif- 
icant, turbulent  or  corrupt  junto,  to  the  regular  deliberations  and 
decisions  of  a  respectable  majority.  In  those  emergencies  of  a  nation, 
in  which  the  goodness  or  badness,  the  weakness  or  strength  of  its 
government,  is  of  the  greatest  importance,  there  is  commonly  a 
necessity  for  action.  The  public  business  must  in  some  way  or  other 
go  forward.  If  a  pertinacious  minority  can  controul  the  opinion 
of  a  majority  respecting  the  best  mode  of  conducting  it;  the  ma- 
jority, in  order  that  something  may  be  done,  must  conform  to  the 
views  of  the  minority;  and  thus  the  sense  of  the  smaller  number  will 
over  rule  that  of  the  greater  and  give  a  tone  to  the  national  proceed- 
ings. Hence  tedious  delays — continual  negotiation  and  intrigue — con- 
temptible compromises  of  the  public  good.  And  yet  in  such  a  system, 
it  is  even  happy  when  such  compromises  can  take  place:  For  upon 
some  occasions,  things  will  not  admit  of  accommodation;  and  then 
the  measures  of  government  must  be  injuriously  suspended  or  fatally 
defeated.  It  is  often,  by  the  impracticability  of  obtaining  the  con- 
currence of  the  necessary  number  of  votes,  kept  in  a  state  of  inaction. 
Its  situation  must  always  savour  of  weakness — sometimes  border 
upon  anarchy. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  discover  that  a  principle  of  this  kind  gives 
greater  scope  to  foreign  corruption  as  well  as  to  domestic  faction, 
than  that  which  permits  the  sense  of  the  majority  to  decide;  though 
the  contrary  of  this  has  been  presumed.  The  mistake  has  proceeded 
from  not  attending  with  due  care  to  the  mischiefs  that  may  be 
occasioned  by  obstructing  the  progress  of  government  at  certain 
critical  seasons.  When  the  concurrence  of  a  large  number  is  required 
by  the  constitution  to  the  doing  of  any  national  act,  we  are  apt  to  rest 
satisfied  that  all  is  safe,  because  nothing  improper  will  be  likely  to  be 
done;  but  we  forget  how  much  good  may  be  prevented,  and  how 
much  ill  may  be  produced,  by  the  power  of  hindering  that  which  is 
necessary  from  being  done,  and  of  keeping  affairs  in  the  same  un- 
favourable posture  in  which  they  may  happen  to  stand  at  particular 
periods. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 


Suppose  for  instance  we  were  engaged  in  a  war,  in  conjunction 
with  one  foreign  nation  against  another.  Suppose  the  necessity  of 
our  situation  demanded  peace,  and  the  interest  or  ambition  of  our 
ally  led  him  to  seek  the  prosecution  of  the  war,  with  views  that  might 
justify  us  in  making  separate  terms.  In  such  a  state  of  things  this 
ally  of  ours  would  evidently  find  it  much  easier  by  his  bribes  and  his 
intrigues  to  tie  up  the  hands  of  government  from  making  peace, 
where  two  thirds  of  all  the  votes  were  requisite  to  that  object,  than 
where  a  simple  majority  would  suffice.  In  the  first  case  he  would 
have  to  corrupt  a  smaller  number;  in  the  last  a  greater  number. 
Upon  the  same  principle  it  would  be  much  easier  for  a  foreign  power 
with  which  we  were  at  war,  to  perplex  our  councils  and  embarrass 
our  exertions.  And  in  a  commercial  view  we  may  be  subjected  to 
similar  inconveniences.  A  nation  with  which  we  might  have  a 
treaty  of  commerce,  could  with  much  greater  facility  prevent  our 
forming  a  connection  with  her  competitor  in  trade;  though  such  a 
connection  should  be  ever  so  beneficial  to  ourselves. 

Evils  of  this  description  ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  imaginary. 
One  of  the  weak  sides  of  republics,  among  their  numerous  advantages, 
is,  that  they  afford  too  easy  an  inlet  to  foreign  corruption.  An  heredi- 
tary monarch,  though  often  disposed  to  sacrifice  his  subjects  to  his 
ambition,  has  so  great  a  personal  interest  in  the  government,  and  in 
the  external  glory  of  the  nation,  that  it  is  not  easy  for  a  foreign  power 
to  give  him  an  equivalent  for  what  he  would  sacrifice  by  treachery 
to  the  state.  The  world  has  accordingly  been  witness  to  few  examples 
of  this  species  of  royal  prostitution,  though  there  have  been  abundant 
specimens  of  every  other  kind. 

In  republics,  persons  elevated  from  the  mass  of  the  community, 
by  the  suffrages  of  'their  fellow  citizens,  to  stations  of  great  pre- 
eminence and  power,  may  find  compensations  for  betraying  their 
trust,  which  to  any  but  minds  actuated  by  superior  virtue  may  appear 
to  exceed  the  proportion  of  interest  they  have  in  the  common  stock, 
and  to  over-balance  the  obligations  of  duty.  Hence  it  is  that  history 
furnishes  us  with  so  many  mortifying  examples  of  the  prevalency  of 
foreign  corruption  in  republican  governments.  How  much  this 
contributed  to  the  ruin  of  the  ancient  commonwealths  has  been 
already  disclosed.  It  is  well  known  that  the  deputies  of  the 
United  Provinces  have,  in  various  instances,  been  purchased  by  the 


222  AMERICAN  PROSE 


emissaries  of  the  neighbouring  kingdoms.  The  earl  of  Chesterfield 
(if  my  memory  serves  me  right)  in  a  letter  to  his  court,  intimates  that 
his  success  in  an  important  negotiation,  must  depend  on  his  obtaining 
a  major's  commission  for  one  of  those  deputies.  And  in  Sweden,  the 
parties  were  alternately  bought  by  France  and  England,  in  so  bare- 
faced and  notorious  a  manner  that  it  excited  universal  disgust  in  the 
nation;  and  was  a  principal  cause  that  the  most  limited  monarch  in 
Europe,  in  a  single  day,  without  tumult,  violence,  or  opposition, 
became  one  of  the  most  absolute  and  uncontrouled. 

A  circumstance,  which  crowns  the  defects  of  the  confederation, 
remains  yet  to  be  mentioned — the  want  of  a  judiciary  power.  Laws 
are  a  dead  letter  without  courts  to  expound  and  define  their  true 
meaning  and  operation.  The  treaties  of  the  United  States,  to  have 
any  force  at  all,  must  be  considered  as  part  of  the  law  of  the  land. 
Their  true  import,  as  far  as  respects  individuals,  must,  like  all  other 
laws,  be  ascertained  by  judicial  determinations.  To  produce  uni- 
formity in  these  determinations,  they  ought  to  be  submitted  in  the 
last  resort,  to  one  SUPREME  TRIBUNAL.  And  this  tribunal  ought  to  be 
instituted  under  the  same  authority  which  forms  the  treaties  them- 
selves. These  ingredients  are  both  indispensible.  If  there  is  in  each 
state  a  court  of  final  jurisdiction,  there  may  be  as  many  different 
final  determinations  on  the  same  point,  as  there  are  courts.  There 
are  endless  diversities  in  the  opinions  of  men.  We  often  see  not 
only  different  courts,  but  the  judges  of  the  same  court  differing  from 
each  other.  To  avoid  the  confusion  which  would  unavoidably  result 
from  the  contradictory  decisions  of  a  number  of  independent  judica- 
tories,  all  nations  have  found  it  necessary  to  establish  one  court 
paramount  to  the  rest,  possessing  a  general  superintendance,  and 
authorised  to  settle  and  declare  in  the  last  resort  an  uniform  rule  of 
civil  justice. 

This  is  the  more  necessary  where  the  frame  of  the  government  is 
so  compounded,  that  the  laws  of  the  whole  are  hi  danger  of  being 
contravened  by  the  laws  of  the  parts.  In  this  case,  it  the  particular 
tribunals  are  invested  with  a  right  of  ultimate  jurisdiction,  besides  the 
contradictions  to  be  expected  from  difference  of  opinion,  there  will 
be  much  to  fear  from  the  bias  of  local  views  and  prejudices,  and  from 
the  interference  of  local  regulations.  As  often  as  such  an  inter- 
ference was  to  happen,  there  would  be  reason  to  apprehend,  that  the 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON  223 

provisions  of  the  particular  laws  might  be  preferred  to  those  of  the 
general  laws;  from  the  deference  with  which  men  in  office  naturally 
look  up  to  that  authority  to  which  they  owe  their  official  existence. 
The  treaties  of  the  United  States,  under  the  present  constitution,  are 
liable  to  the  infractions  of  thirteen  different  legislatures,  and  as  many 
different  courts  of  final  jurisdiction,  acting  under  the  authority  of 
those  legislatures.  The  faith,  the  reputation,  the  peace  of  the  whole 
union,  are  thus  continually  at  the  mercy  of  the  prejudices,  the  passions, 
and  the  interests  of  every  member  of  which  it  is  composed.  Is  it 
possible  that  foreign  nations  can  either  respect  or  confide  in  such  a 
government  ?  Is  it  possible  that  the  people  of  America  will  longer 
consent  to  trust  their  honor,  their  happiness,  their  safety,  on  so  pre- 
carious a  foundation  ? 

In  this  review  of  the  confederation,  I  have  confined  myself  to  the 
exhibition  of  its  most  material  defects;  passing  over  those  imperfec- 
tions in  its  details,  by  which  even  a  considerable  part  of  the  power 
intended  to  be  conferred  upon  it,  has  been  in  a  great  measure  rendered 
abortive.  It  must  be  by  this  time  evident  to  all  men  of  reflection, 
who  are  either  free  from  erronious  prepossessions  or  can  divest  them- 
selves of  them,  that  it  is  a  system  so  radically  vicious  and  unsound, 
as  to  admit  not  of  amendment  but  by  an  entire  change  in  its  leading 
features  and  characters. 

The  organization  of  congress,  is  itself  utterly  improper  for  the 
exercise  of  those  powers  which  are  necessary  to  be  deposited  in  the 
union.  A  single  assembly  may  be  a  proper  receptacle  of  those  slender, 
or  rather  fettered  authorities,  which  have  been  heretofore  delegated 
to  the  federal  head;  but  it  would  be  inconsistent  with  all  the  principles 
of  good  government,  to  intrust  it  with  those  additional  powers  which 
even  the  moderate  and  more  rational  adversaries  of  the  proposed 
constitution  admit,  ought  to  reside  in  the  United  States.  If  that 
plan  should  not  be  adopted;  and  if  the  necessity  of  union  should  be 
able  to  withstand  the  ambitious  aims  of  those  men,  who  may  indulge 
magnificent  schemes  of  personal  aggrandizement  from  its  dissolution; 
the  probability  would  be,  that  we  should  run  into  the  project  of  con- 
fering  supplementary  powers  upon  congress  as  they  are  now  consti- 
tuted. And  either  the  machine,  from  the  intrinsic  feebleness  of  its 
structure,  will  moulder  into  pieces  in  spite  of  our  ill-judged  efforts 
to  prop  it;  or  by  successive  augmentations  of  its  force  and  energy, 


224  AMERICAN  PROSE 


as  necessity  might  prompt,  we  shall  finally  accumulate  in  a  single 
body,  all  the  most  important  prerogatives  of  sovereignty;  and  thus 
entail  upon  our  posterity,  one  of  the  most  execrable  forms  of  govern- 
ment that  human  infatuation  ever  contrived.  Thus  we  should 
create  in  reality  that  very  tyranny,  which  the  adversaries  of  the 
new  constitution  either  are,  or  affect  to  be  solicitous  to  avert. 

It  has  not  a  little  contributed  to  the  infirmities  of  the  existing 
federal  system,  that  it  never  had  a  ratification  by  the  PEOPLE.  Rest- 
ing on  no  better  foundation  than  the  consent  of  the  several  legislatures, 
it  has  been  exposed  to  frequent  and  intricate  questions  concerning  the 
validity  of  its  powers;  and  has  in  some  instances  given  birth  to  the 
enormous  doctrine  of  a  right  of  legislative  repeal.  Owing  its  rati- 
fication to  the  law  of  a  state,  it  has  been  contended,  that  the  same 
authority  might  repeal  the  law  by  which  it  was  ratified.  However 
gross  a  heresy  it  may  be  to  maintain  that  a  party  to  a  compact  has  a 
right  to  revoke  that  compact,  the  doctrine  itself  has  had  respectable 
advocates.  The  possibility  of  a  question  of  this  nature,  proves  the 
necessity  of  laying  the  foundations  of  our  national  government 
deeper  than  hi  the  mere  sanction  of  delegated  authority.  The  fabric 
of  American  empire  ought  to  rest  on  the  solid  basis  of  THE  CONSENT 
OF  THE  PEOPLE.  The  streams  of  national  power  ought  to  flow 
immediately  from  that  pure  original  fountain  of  all  legitimate 
authority. 

PUBLIUS. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING 

FROM 

A  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK 

It  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1629  that  Mynheer  Wouter  Van 
Twiller  was  appointed  governor  of  the  province  of  Nieuw  Nederlandts, 
under  the  commission  and  control  of  their  High  Mightinesses  the 
Lords  States  General  of  the  United  Netherlands,  and  the  privileged 
West  India  Company. 

This  renowned  old*  gentleman  arrived  at  New  Amsterdam  in  the 
merry  month  of  June,  the  sweetest  month  in  all  the  year;  when  dan 
Apollo  seems  to  dance  up  the  transparent  firmament, — when  the 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  225 

robin,  the  thrush,  and  a  thousand  other  wanton  songsters,  make  the 
woods  to  resound  with  amorous  ditties,  and  the  luxurious  little  boblin- 
con  revels  among  the  clover-blossoms  of  the  meadows, — all  which 
happy  coincidence  persuaded  the  old  dames  of  New  Amsterdam,  who 
were  skilled  in  the  art  of  foretelling  events,  that  this  was  to  be  a 
happy  and  prosperous  administration. 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twiller  was  descended 
from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgomasters,  who  had  successively  dozed 
away  their  lives,  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  magistracy  in 
Rotterdam;  and  who  had  comported  themselves  with  such  singular 
wisdom  and  propriety,  that  they  were  never  either  heard  or  talked  of 
— which,  next  to  being  universally  applauded,  should  be  the  object 
of  ambition  of  all  magistrates  and  rulers.  There  are  two  opposite 
ways  by  which  some  men  make  a  figure  in  the  world :  one,  by  talking 
faster  than  they  think,  and  the  other,  by  holding  their  tongues  and 
not  thinking  at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a  smatterer  acquires  the 
reputation  of  a  man  of  quick  parts;  by  the  other,  many  a  dunderpate, 
like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of  birds,  comes  to  be  considered  the  very 
type  of  wisdom.  This,  by  the  way,  is  a  casual  remark,  which  I  would 
not,  for  the  universe,  have  it  thought  I  apply  to  Governor  Van  Twiller. 
It  is  true  he  was  a  man  shut  up  within  himself,  like  an  oyster,  and 
rarely  spoke,  except  in  monosyllables;  but  then  it  was  allowed  he 
seldom  said  a  foolish  thing.  So  invincible  was  his  gravity  that  he 
was  never  known  to  laugh  or  even  to  smile  through  the  whole  course 
of  a  long  and  prosperous  life.  Nay,  if  a  joke  were  uttered  in  his 
presence,  that  set  light-minded  hearers  in  a  roar,  it  was  observed 
to  throw  him  into  a  state  of  perplexity.  Sometimes  he  would  deign 
to  inquire  into  the  matter,  and  when,  after  much  explanation,  the 
joke  was  made  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  he  would  continue  to  smoke 
his  pipe  in  silence,  and  at  length,  knocking  out  the  ashes,  would 
exclaim,  "Well!  I  see  nothing  in  all  that  to  laugh  about." 

With  all  his  reflective  habits,  he  never  made  up  his  mind  on  a 
subject.  His  adherents  accounted  for  this  by  the  astonishing  magni- 
tude of  his  ideas.  He  conceived  every  subject  on  so  grand  a  scale  that 
he  had  not  room  in  his  head  to  turn  it  over  and  examine  both  sides 
of  it.  Certain  it  is,  that,  if  any  matter  were  propounded  to  him  on 
which  ordinary  mortals  would  rashly  determine  at  first  glance,  he 
would  put  on  a  vague,  mysterious  look,  shake  his  capacious  head, 


226  AMERICAN  PROSE 


smoke  some  time  in  profound  silence,  and  at  length  observe,  that 
"he  had  his  doubts  about  the  matter";  which  gained  him  the  repu- 
tation of  a  man  slow  of  belief  and  not  easily  imposed  upon.  What  is 
more,  it  gained  him  a  lasting  name;  for  to  this  habit  of  the  mind  has 
been  attributed  his  surname  of  Twiller;  which  is  said  to  be  a  corrup- 
tion of  the  original  Twijfler,  or,  in  plain  English,  Doubter. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman  was  formed  and 
proportioned,  as  though  it  had  been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  some 
cunning  Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and  lordly  grandeur. 
He  was  exactly  five  feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  six  feet  five  inches 
in  circumference.  His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere,  and  of  such  stu- 
pendous dimensions,  that  dame  Nature,  with  all  her  sex's  ingenuity, 
would  have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a  neck  capable  of  supporting  it ; 
wherefore  she  wisely  declined  the  attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the 
top  of  his  backbone,  just  between  the  shoulders.  His  body  was 
oblong  and  particularly  capacious  at  bottom;  which  was  wisely 
ordered  by  Providence,  seeing  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary  habits, 
and  very  averse  to  the  idle  labor  of  walking.  His  legs  were  short, 
but  sturdy  in  proportion  to  the  weight  they  had  to  sustain;  so  that 
when  erect  he  had  not  a  little  the  appearance  of  a  beer-barrel  on  skids. 
His  face,  that  infallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a  vast  expanse, 
unfurrowed  by  any  of  those  lines  and  angles  which  disfigure  the 
human  countenance  with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two  small 
gray  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in  the  midst,  like  two  stars  of  lesser  magni- 
tude in  a  hazy  firmament;  and  his  full-fed  cheeks,  which  seemed 
to  have  taken  toll  of  everything  that  went  into  his  mouth,  were 
curiously  mottled  and  streaked  with  dusky  red,  like  a  spitzenberg 
apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He  daily  took  his  four 
stated  meals,  appropriating  exactly  an  hour  to  each;  he  smoked  and 
doubted  eight  hours,  and  he  slept  the  remaining  twelve  of  the  four- 
and-twenty.  Such  was  the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller, — a  true 
philosopher,  for  his  mind  was  either  elevated  above,  or  tranquilly 
settled  below,  the  cares  and  perplexities  of  this  world.  He  had  lived 
in  it  for  years,  without  feeling  the  least  curiosity  to  know  whether 
the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it  round  the  sun;  and  he  had  watched, 
for  at  least  half  a  century,  the  smoke  curling  from  bis  pipe  to  the 
ceiling,  without  once  troubling  his  head  with  any  of  those  numerous 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  227 

theories  by  which  a  philosopher  would  have  perplexed  his  brain,  in 
accounting  for  its  rising  above  the  surrounding  atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state  and  solemnity.  He 
sat  in  a  huge  chair  of  solid  oak,  hewn  in  the  celebrated  forest  of  the 
Hague,  fabricated  by  an  experienced  timmerman  of  Amsterdam, 
and  curiously  carved  about  the  arms  and  feet,  into  exact  imitations  of 
gigantic  eagle's  claws.  Instead  of  a  sceptre,  he  swayed  a  long  Turkish 
pipe,  wrought  with  jasmin  and  amber,  which  had  been  presented  to  a 
stadtholder  of  Holland  at  the  conclusion  of  a  treaty  with  one  of  the 
petty  Barbary  powers.  In  this  stately  chair  would  he  sit,  and  this 
magnificent  pipe  would  he  smoke,  shaking  his  right  knee  with  a  con- 
stant motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for  hours  together  upon  a  little  print 
of  Amsterdam,  which  hung  in  a  black  frame  against  the  opposite  wall 
of  the  council-chamber.  Nay,  it  has  even  been  said,  that  when  any 
deliberation  of  extraordinary  length  and  intricacy  was  on  the  carpet, 
the  renowned  Wouter  would  shut  his  eyes  for  full  two  hours  at  a 
time,  that  he  might  not  be  disturbed  by  external  objects;  and  at 
such  times  the  internal  commotion  of  his  mind  was  evinced  by  certain 
regular  guttural  sounds,  which  his  admirers  declared  were  merely 
the  noise  of  conflict,  made  by  his  contending  doubts  and  opinions. 

It  is  with  infinite  difficulty  I  have  been  enabled  to  collect  these 
biographical  anecdotes  of  the  great  man  under  consideration.  The 
facts  respecting  him  were  so  scattered  and  vague,  and  divers  of  them  so 
questionable  in  point  of  authenticity,  that  I  have  had  to  give  up  the 
search  after  many,  and  decline  the  admission  of  still  more,  which 
would  have  tended  to  heighten  the  coloring  of  his  portrait. 

I  have  been  the  more  anxious  to  delineate  fully  the  person  and 
habits  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  from  the  consideration  that  he  was 
not  only  the  first,  but  also  the  best  governor  that  ever  presided 
over  this  ancient  and  respectable  province;  and  so  tranquil  and 
benevolent  was  his  reign,  that  I  do  not  find  throughout  the  whole  of 
it  a  single  instance  of  any  offender  being  brought  to  punishment, — 
a  most  indubitable  sign  of  a  merciful  governor,  and  a  case  unparalleled, 
excepting  in  the  reign  of  the  illustrious  King  Log,  from  whom,  it  is 
hinted,  the  renowned  Van  Twiller  was  a  lineal  descendant. 

The  very  outset  of  the  career  of  this  excellent  magistrate  was 
distinguished  by  an  example  of  legal  acumen,  that  gave  flattering 
presage  of  a  wise  and  equitable  administration.  The  morning  after 


228  AMERICAN  PROSE 


he  had  been  installed  in  office,  and  at  the  moment  that  he  was  making 
his  breakfast  from  a  prodigious  earthen  dish,  filled  with  milk  and 
Indian  pudding,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Wandle 
Schoonhoven,  a  very  important  old  burgher  of  New  Amsterdam, 
who  complained  bitterly  of  one  Barent  Bleecker,  inasmuch  as  be 
refused  to  come  to  a  settlement  of  accounts,  seeing  that  there  was  a 
heavy  balance  in  favor  of  the  said  Wandle.  Governor  Van  Twiller, 
as  I  have  already  observed,  was  a  man  of  few  words;  he  was  like- 
wise a  mortal  enemy  to  multiplying  writings — or  being  disturbed 
at  his  breakfast.  Having  listened  attentively  to  the  statement 
of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  giving  an  occasional  grunt,  as  he  shovelled 
a  spoonful  of  Indian  pudding  into  his  mouth, — either  as  a  sign  that 
he  relished  the  dish,  or  comprehended  the  story, — he  called  unto 
him  his  constable,  and  pulling  out  of  his  breeches-pocket  a  huge 
jack-knife,  dispatched  it  after  the  defendant  as  a  summons,  accom- 
panied by  his  tobacco-box  as  a  warrant. 

This  summary  process  was  as  effectual  in  those  simple  days  as 
was  the  seal-ring  of  the  great  Haroun  Alraschid  among  the  true 
believers.  The  two  parties  being  confronted  before  him,  each  pro- 
duced a  book  of  accounts,  written  in  a  language  and  character  that 
would  have  puzzled  any  but  a  High-Dutch  commentator,  or  a  learned 
decipherer  of  Egyptian  obelisks.  The  sage  Wouter  took  them  one 
after  the  other,  and  having  poised  them  in  his  hands,  and  attentively 
counted  over  the  number  of  leaves,  fell  straightway  into  a  very  great 
doubt,  and  smoked  for  half  an  hour  without  saying  a  word;  at 
length,  laying  his  finger  beside  his  nose,  and  shutting  his  eyes  for  a 
moment,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  just  caught  a  subtle  idea  by 
the  tail,  he  slowly  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  puffed  forth  a  column 
of  tobacco-smoke,  and  with  marvellous  gravity  and  solemnity  pro- 
nounced, that,  having  carefully  counted  over  the  leaves  and  weighed 
the  books,  it  was  found,  that  one  was  just  as  thick  and  as  heavy  as 
the  other:  therefore,  it  was  the  final  opinion  of  the  court  that  the 
accounts  were  equally  balanced:  therefore,  Wandle  should  give  Bar- 
ent a  receipt,  and  Barent  should  give  Wandle  a  receipt,  and  the 
constable  should  pay  the  costs. 

This  decision,  being  straightway  made  known,  diffused  general 
joy  throughout  New  Amsterdam,  for  the  people  immediately  per- 
ceived that  they  had  a  very  wise  and  equitable  magistrate  to  rule 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  229 

over  them.  But  its  happiest  effect  was,  that  not  another  lawsuit 
took  place  throughout  £he  whole  of  his  administration;  and  the 
office  of  constable  fell  into  such  decay,  that  there  was  not  one  of  those 
losel  scouts  known  in  the  province  for  many  years.  I  am  the  more 
particular  in  dwelling  on  this  transaction,  not  only  because  I  deem 
it  one  of  the  most  sage  and  righteous  judgments  on  record,  and  well 
worthy  the  attention  of  modern  magistrates,  but  because  it  was  a 
miraculous  event  in  the  history  of  the  renowned  Wouter, — being 
the  only  time  he  was  ever  known  to  come  to  a  decision  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 

FROM 

THE  SKETCH  BOOK 

RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

Whoever  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  must  remember  the 
Kaatskill  mountains.  They  are  a  dismembered  branch  of  the  great 
Appalachian  family,  and  are  seen  away  to  the  west  of  the  river,  swell- 
ing up  to  a  noble  height,  and  lording  it  over  the  surrounding  country. 
Every  change  of  season,  every  change  of  weather,  indeed  every  hour 
of  the  day,  produces  some  change  in  the  magical  hues  and  shapes  of 
these  mountains,  and  they  are  regarded  by  all  the  good  wives,  far 
and  near,  as  perfect  barometers.  When  the  weather  is  fair  and 
settled,  they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print  their  bold 
outlines  on  the  clear  evening  sky;  but  sometimes,  when  the  rest 
of  the  landscape  is  cloudless,  they  will  gather  a  hood  of  gray  vapors 
about  their  summits,  which,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  will 
glow  and  light  up  like  a  crown  of  glory. 

At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyager  may  have 
descried  the  light  smoke  curling  up  from  a  village,  whose  shingle-roofs 
gleam  among  the  trees,  just  where  the  blue  tints  of  the  upland  melt 
away  into  the  fresh  green  of  the  nearer  landscape.  It  is  a  little  village, 
of  great  antiquity,  having  been  founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch  colo- 
nists in  the  early  times  of  the  province,  just  about  the  beginning  of  the 
government  of  the  good  Peter  Stuyvesant,  (may  he  rest  in  peace!) 
and  there  were  some  of  the  houses  of  the  original  settlers  standing 
within  a  few  years,  built  of  small  yellow  bricks  brought  from  Hol- 
land, having  latticed  windows  and  gable  fronts,  surmounted  with 
weather-cocks. 


230  AMERICAN  PROSE 


In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  very  houses  (which,  to 
tell  the  precise  truth,  was  sadly  time-worn  and  weather-beaten), 
there  lived  many  years  since,  while  the  country  was  yet  a  province 
of  Great  Britain,  a  simple  good-natured  fellow,  of  the  name  of  Rip 
Van  Winkle.  He  was  a  descendant  of  the  Van  Winkles  who  figured 
so  gallantly  in  the  chivalrous  days  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  accom- 
panied him  to  the  siege  of  Fort  Christina.  He  inherited,  however, 
but  little  of  the  martial  character  of  his  ancestors.  I  have  observed 
that  he  was  a  simple  good-natured  man;  he  was,  moreover,  a  kind 
neighbor,  and  an  obedient  hen-pecked  husband.  Indeed,  to  the 
latter  circumstance  might  be  owing  that  meekness  of  spirit  which 
gained  him  such  universal  popularity;  for  those  men  are  most  apt 
to  be  obsequious  and  conciliating  abroad,  who  are  under  the  dis- 
cipline of  shrews  at  home.  Their  tempers,  doubtless,  are  rendered 
pliant  and  malleable  in  the  fiery  furnace  of  domestic  tribulation;  and 
a  curtain  lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  in  the  world  for  teaching 
the  virtues  of  patience  and  long-suffering.  A  termagant  wife  may, 
therefore,  in  some  respects,  be  considered  a  tolerable  blessing;  and  if 
so,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blessed. 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favorite  among  all  the  good 
wives  of  the  village,  who,  as  usual  with  the  amiable  sex,  took  his  part 
in  all  family  squabbles;  and  never  failed,  whenever  they  talked 
those  matters  over  in  their  evening  gossipings,  to  lay  all  the  blame 
on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The  children  of  the  village,  too,  would 
shout  with  joy  whenever  he  approached.  He  assisted  at  their  sports, 
made  their  playthings,  taught  them  to  fly  kites  and  shoot  marbles,  and 
told  them  long  stories  of  ghosts,  witches,  and  Indians.  Whenever 
he  went  dodging  about  the  village,  he  was  surrounded  by  a  troop  of 
them,  hanging  on  his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  back,  and  playing  a 
thousand  tricks  on  him  with  impunity;  and  not  a  dog  would  bark  at 
him  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

The  great  error  hi  Rip's  composition  was  an  insuperable  aversion 
to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labor.  It  could  not  be  from  the  want  of 
assiduity  or  perseverance;  for  he  would  sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod  as 
long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all  day  without  a  murmur, 
even  though  he  should  not  be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.  He 
would  carry  a  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder  for  hours  together, 
trudging  through  woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill  and  down  dale,  to 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  231 

shoot  a  few  squirrels  or  wild  pigeons.  He  would  never  refuse  to  assist 
a  neighbor  even  in  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost  man  at  all 
country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn,  or  building  stone-fences; 
the  women  of  the  village,  too,  used  to  employ  him  to  run  their  errands, 
and  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less  obliging  husbands  would 
not  do  for  them.  In  a  word  Rip  was  ready  to  attend  to  any  body's 
business  but  his  own;  but  as  to  doing  family  duty,  and  keeping  his 
farm  in  order,  he  found  it  impossible. 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on  his  farm;  it  was 
the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of  ground  in  the  whole  country;  every 
thing  about  it  went  wrong,  and  would  go  wrong,  in  spite  of  him. 
His  fences  were  continually  falling  to  pieces;  his  cow  would  either 
go  astray,  or  get  among  the  cabbages;  weeds  were  sure  to  grow 
quicker  in  his  fields  than  any  where  else;  the  rain  always  made  a 
point  of  setting  in  just  as  he  had  some  out-door  work  to  do;  so  that 
though  his  patrimonial  estate  had  dwindled  away  under  his  manage- 
ment, acre  by  acre,  until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere  patch 
of  Indian  corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the  worst  conditioned  farm  in 
the  neighborhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if  they  belonged 
to  nobody.  His  son  Rip,  an  urchin  begotten  in  his  own  likeness, 
promised  to  inherit  the  habits,  with  the  old  clothes  of  his  father.  He 
was  generally  seen  trooping  like  a  colt  at  his  mother's  heels,  equipped 
in  a  pair  of  his  father's  cast-off  galligaskins,  which  he  had  much  ado  to 
hold  up  with  one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does  her  train  in  bad  weather. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  however,  was  one  of  those  happy  mortals,  of 
foolish,  well-oiled  dispositions,  who  take  the  world  easy,  eat  white 
bread  or  brown,  whichever  can  be  got  with  least  thought  or  trouble, 
and  would  rather  starve  on  a  penny  than  work  for  a  pound.  If  left 
to  himself,  he  would  have  whistled  life  away  in  perfect  contentment; 
but  his  wife  kept  continually  dinning  in  his  ears  about  his  idleness, 
his  carelessness,  and  the  ruin  he  was  bringing  on  his  family.  Morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night,  her  tongue  was  incessantly  going,  and  every 
thing  he  said  or  did  was  sure  to  produce  a  torrent  of  household 
eloquence.  Rip  had  but  one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  of  the 
kind,  and  that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a  habit.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head,  cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said 
nothing.  This,  however,  always  provoked  a  fresh  volley  from  his 


232  AMERICAN  PROSE 


wife;  so  that  he  was  fain  to  draw  off  his  forces,  and  take  to  the  outside 
of  the  house — the  only  side  which,  in  truth,  belongs  to  a  hen-pecked 
husband. 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf,  who  was  as  much 
hen-pecked  as  his  master;  for  Dame  Van  Winkle  regarded  them  as 
companions  in  idleness,  and  even  looked  upon  Wolf  with  an  evil  eye, 
as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often  astray.  True  it  is,  in  all 
points  of  spirit  befitting  an  honorable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an 
animal  as  ever  scoured  the  woods — but  what  courage  can  withstand 
the  ever-during  and  all-besetting  terrors  of  a  woman's  tongue  ?  The 
moment  Wolf  entered  the  house  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the 
ground  or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a  gallows 
air,  casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Dame  Van  Winkle,  and  at 
the  least  flourish  of  a  broomstick  or  ladle,  he  would  fly  to  the  door 
with  yelping  precipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Winkle  as  years  of 
matrimony  rolled  on;  a  tart  temper  never  mellows  with  age,  and  a 
sharp  tongue  is  the  only  edged  tool  that  grows  keener  with  con- 
stant use.  For  a  long  while  he  used  to  console  himself,  when  driven 
from  home,  by  frequenting  a  kind  of  perpetual  club  of  the  sages, 
philosophers,  and  other  idle  personages  of  the  village;  which  held 
its  sessions  on  a  bench  before  a  small  inn,  designated  by  a  rubicund 
portrait  of  His  Majesty  George  the  Third.  Here  they  used  to  sit  in 
the  shade  through  a  long  lazy  summer's  day,  talking  listlessly  over 
village  gossip,  or  telling  endless  sleepy  stories  about  nothing.  But 
it  would  have  been  worth  any  statesman's  money  to  have  heard  the 
profound  discussions  that  sometimes  took  place,  when  by  chance  an 
old  newspaper  fell  into  their  hands  from  some  passing  traveler.  How 
solemnly  they  would  listen  to  the  contents,  as  drawled  out  by  Derrick 
Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  a  dapper  learned  little  man,  who  was 
not  to  be  daunted  by  the  most  gigantic  word  in  the  dictionary; 
and  how  sagely  they  would  deliberate  upon  public  events  some 
months  after  they  had  taken  place. 

The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely  controlled  by  Nicholas 
Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  village,  and  landlord  of  the  inn,  at  the 
door  of  which  he  took  his  seat  from  morning  till  night,  just  moving 
sufficiently  to  avoid  the  sun  and  keep  in  the  shade  of  a  large  tree; 
so  that  the  neighbors  could  tell  the  hour  by  his  movements  as  accu- 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  233 

rately  as  by  a  sun-dial.  It  is  true  he  was  rarely  heard  to  speak,  but 
smoked  his  pipe  incessantly.  His  adherents,  however  (for  every 
great  man  has  his  adherents),  perfectly  understood  him,  and  knew  how 
to  gather  his  opinions.  When  any  thing  that  was  read  or  related 
displeased  him,  he  was  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently,  and 
to  send  forth  short,  frequent  and  angry  puffs;  but  when  pleased,  he 
would  inhale  the  smoke  slowly  and  tranquilly,  and  emit  it  in  light 
and  placid  clouds;  and  sometimes,  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
and  letting  the  fragrant  vapor  curl  about  his  nose,  would  gravely  nod 
his  head  in  token  of  perfect  approbation. 

From  even  this  strong-hold  the  unlucky  Rip  was  at  length  routed 
by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would  suddenly  break  in  upon  the  tran- 
quility  of  the  assemblage  and  call  the  members  all  to  naught;  nor 
was  that  august  personage,  Nicholas  Vedder  himself,  sacred  from 
the  daring  tongue  of  this  terrible  virago,  who  charged  him  outright 
with  encouraging  her  husband  in  habits  of  idleness. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair;  and  his  only 
alternative,  to  escape  from  the  labor  of  the  farm  and  clamor  of  his 
wife,  was  to  take  gun  in  hand  and  stroll  away  into  the  woods.  Here 
he  would  sometimes  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  share  the 
contents  of  his  wallet  with  Wolf,  with  whom  he  sympathized  as  a 
fellow-sufferer  in  persecution.  "Poor  Wolf,"  he  would  say,  "thy 
mistress  leads  thee  a  dog's  life  of  it;  but  never  mind,  my  lad,  whilst 
I  live  thou  shalt  never  want  a  friend  to  stand  by  thee!"  Wolf  would 
wag  his  tail,  look  wistfully  in  his  master's  face,  and  if  dogs  can  feel 
pity,  I  verily  believe  he  reciprocated  the  sentiment  with  all  his  heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a  fine  autumnal  day,  Rip  had 
unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of  the  highest  parts  of  the  Kaatskill 
mountains.  He  was  after  his  favorite  sport  of  squirrel  shooting, 
and  the  still  solitudes  had  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  reports  of  his 
gun.  Panting  and  fatigued,  he  threw  himself,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
on  a  green  knoll,  covered  with  mountain  herbage,  that  crowned  the 
brow  of  a  precipice.  From  an  opening  between  the  trees  he  could 
overlook  all  the  lower  country  for  many  a  mile  of  rich  woodland.  He 
saw  at  a  distance  the  lordly  Hudson,  far,  far  below  him,  moving  on 
its  silent  but  majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of  a  purple  cloud, 
or  the  sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and  there  sleeping  on  its  glassy 
bosom,  and  at  last  losing  itself  in  the  blue  highlands. 


234  AMERICAN  PROSE 


On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a  deep  mountain  glen, 
wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom  filled  with  fragments  from  the 
impending  cliffs,  and  scarcely  lighted  by  the  reflected  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.  For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing  on  this  scene;  evening 
was  gradually  advancing;  the  mountains  began  to  throw  their  long 
blue  shadows  over  the  valleys;  he  saw  that  it  would  be  dark  long 
before  he  could  reach  the  village,  and  he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh  when 
he  thought  of  encountering  the  terrors  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend,  he  heard  a  voice  from  a  distance, 
hallooing,  "Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip  Van  Winkle!"  He  looked 
round,  but  could  see  nothing  but  a  crow  winging  its  solitary  flight 
across  the  mountain.  He  thought  his  fancy  must  have  deceived 
him,  and  turned  again  to  descend  when  he  heard  the  same 
cry  ring  through  the  still  evening  air:  "Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip 
Van  Winkle!" — at  the  same  time  Wolf  bristled  up  his  back,  and 
giving  a  low  growl,  skulked  to  his  master's  side,  looking  fearfully 
down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a  vague  apprehension  stealing 
over  him;  he  looked  anxiously  in  the  same  direction,  and  perceived  a 
strange  figure  slowly  toiling  up  the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the 
weight  of  something  he  carried  on  his  back.  He  was  surprised  to  see 
any  human  being  in  this  lonely  and  unfrequented  place;  but  sup- 
posing it  to  be  some  one  of  the  neighborhood  in  need  of  his  assistance, 
he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach  he  was  still  more  surprised  at  the  singularity 
of  the  stranger's  appearance.  He  was  a  short  square-built  old  fellow, 
with  thick  bushy  hair,  and  a  grizzled  beard.  His  dress  was  of  the 
antique  Dutch  fashion — a  cloth  jerkin  strapped  round  the  waist — 
several  pair  of  breeches,  the  outer  one  of  ample  volume,  decorated 
with  rows  of  buttons  down  the  sides,  and  bunches  at  the  knees.  He 
bore  on  his  shoulder  a  stout  keg,  that  seemed  full  of  liquor,  and  made 
signs  for  Rip  to  approach  and  assist  him  with  the  load.  Though 
rather  shy  and  distrustful  of  this  new  acquaintance,  Rip  complied 
with  his  usual  alacrity;  and  mutually  relieving  each  other,  they 
clambered  up  a  narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain 
tprrent.  As  they  ascended,  Rip  every  now  and  then  heard  long 
rolling  peals,  like  distant  thunder,  that  seemed  to  issue  out  of  a  deep 
ravine,  or  rather  cleft,  between  lofty  rocks,  toward  which  their 
rugged  path  conducted.  He  paused  for  an  instant  but  supposing  it  to 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  235 

be  the  muttering  of  one  of  those  transient  thunder-showers  which 
often  take  place  in  mountain  heights,  he  proceeded.  Passing  through 
the  ravine,  they  came  to  a  hollow,  like  a  small  amphitheatre,  sur- 
rounded by  perpendicular  precipices,  over  the  brinks  of  which 
impending  trees  shot  their  branches,  so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses 
of  the  azure  sky  and  the  bright  evening  cloud.  During  the  whole 
time  Rip  and  his  companion  had  labored  on  in  silence;  for  though 
the  former  marveled  greatly  what  could  be  the  object  of  carrying  a 
keg  of  liquor  up  this  wild  mountain,  yet  there  was  something  strange 
and  incomprehensible  about  the  unknown,  that  inspired  awe  and 
checked  familiarity. 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  wonder  presented 
themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in  the  centre  was  a  company  of  odd- 
looking  personages  playing  at  nine-pins.  They  were  dressed  in  a 
quaint  outlandish  fashion;  some  wore  short  doublets,  others  jerkins, 
with  long  knives  in  their  belts,  and  most  of  them  had  enormous 
breeches,  of  similar  style  with  that  of  the  guide's.  Their  visages, 
too,  were  peculiar:  one  had  a  large  head,  broad  face,  and  small 
piggish  eyes:  the  face  of  another  seemed  to  consist  entirely  of  nose, 
and  was  surmounted  by  a  white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a  little 
red  cock's  tail.  They  all  had  beards,  of  various  shapes  and  colors. 
There  was  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  commander.  He  was  a  stout 
old  gentleman,  with  a  weather-beaten  countenance;  he  wore  a  laced 
doublet,  broad  belt  and  hanger,  high  crowned  hat  and  feather,  red 
stockings,  and  high-heeled  shoes,  with  roses  in  them.  The  whole 
group  reminded  Rip  of  the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish  painting,  in  the 
parlor  of  Dominie  Van  Shaick,  the  village  parson,  and  which  had 
been  brought  over  from  Holland  at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip  was,  that  though  these 
folks  were  evidently  amusing  themselves,  yet  they  maintained  the 
gravest  faces,  the  most  mysterious  silence,  and  were,  withal,  the 
most  melancholy  party  of  pleasure  he  had  ever  witnessed.  Nothing 
interrupted  the  stillness  of  the  scene  but  the  noise  of  the  balls,  which, 
whenever  they  were  rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like  rumbling 
peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  they  suddenly 
desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared  at  him  with  such  fixed  statue- 
like  gaze,  and  such  strange,  uncouth,  lack-lustre  countenances,  that 


236       >  AMERICAN  PROSE 


his  heart  turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote  together.  His 
companion  now  emptied  the  contents  of  the  keg  into  large  flagons, 
and  made  signs  to  him  to  wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed 
with  fear  and  trembling;  they  quaffed  the  liquor  in  profound  silence, 
and  then  returned  to  their  game. 

By  degrees  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  subsided.  He  even  ven- 
tured, when  no  eye  was  fixed  upon  him,  to  taste  the  beverage,  which 
he  found  had  much  of  the  flavor  of  excellent  Hollands.  He  was 
naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon  tempted  to  repeat  the  draught. 
One  taste  provoked  another;  and  he  reiterated  his  visits  to  the 
flagon  so  often  that  at  length  his  senses  were  overpowered,  his  eyes 
swam  in  his  head,  his  head  gradually  declined,  and  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep. 

On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  green  knoll  whence  he  had 
first  seen  the  old  man  of  the  glen.  He  rubbed  his  eyes — it  was  a 
bright  sunny  morning.  The  birds  were  hopping  and  twittering 
among  the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was  wheeling  aloft,  and  breasting 
the  pure  mountain  breeze.  "Surely,"  thought  Rip,  "I  have  not 
slept  here  all  night."  He  recalled  the  occurrences  before  he  fell 
asleep.  The  strange  man  with  a  keg  of  liquor — the  mountain  ravine 
— the  wild  retreat  among  the  rocks — the  wobegone  party  at  nine-pins 
— the  flagon — "Oh!  that  flagon!  that  wicked  flagon!"  thought  Rip — 
"what  excuse  shall  I  make  to  Dame  Van  Winkle  ?" 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  of  the  clean  well-oiled 
fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  firelock  lying  by  him,  the  barrel  in- 
crusted  with  rust,  the  lock  falling  off,  and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He 
now  suspected  that  the  grave  roysters  of  the  mountain  had  put  a  trick 
upon  him,  and,  having  dosed  him  with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his 
gun.  Wolf,  too,  had  disappeared,  but  he  might  have  strayed  away 
after  a  squirrel  or-  partridge.  He  whistled  after  him,  and  shouted 
his  name,  but  all  in  vain;  the  echoes  repeated  his  whistle  and  shout, 
but  no  dog  was  to  be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last  evening's  gambol, 
and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the  party,  to  demand  his  dog  and  gun. 
As  he  rose  to  walk,  he  found  himself  stiff  in  the  joints,  and  wanting  in 
his  usual  activity.  "These  mountain  beds  do  not  agree  with  me," 
thought  Rip,  "and  if  this  frolic  should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of  the 
rheumatism,  I  shall  have  a  blessed  time  with  Dame  Van  Winkle." 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  237 

With  some  difficulty  he  got  down  into  the  glen:  he  found  the  gully 
up  which  he  and  his  companion  had  ascended  the  preceding  evening; 
but  to  his  astonishment  a  mountain  stream  was  now  foaming  down 
it,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  filling  the  glen  with  babbling 
murmurs.  He,  however,  made  shift  to  scramble  up  its  sides,  working 
his  toilsome  way  through  thickets  of  birch,  sassafras,  and  witch- 
hazel,  and  sometimes  tripped  up  or  entangled  by  the  wild  grapevines 
that  twisted  their  coils  or  tendrils  from  tree  to  tree,  and  spread  a  kind 
of  network  in  his  path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had  opened  through 
the  cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre;  but  no  traces  of  such  opening  remained. 
The  rocks  presented  a  high  impenetrable  wall,  over  which  the  torrent 
came  tumbling  in  a  sheet  of  feathery  foam,  and  fell  into  a  broad  deep 
basin,  black  from  the  shadows  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Here,  then, 
poor  Rip  was  brought  to  a  stand.  He  again  called  and  whistled  after 
his  dog;  he  was  only  answered  by  the  cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle  crows, 
sporting  high  in  air  about  a  dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  precipice; 
and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed  to  look  down  and  scoff  at 
the  poor  man's  perplexities.  What  was  to  be  done?  the  morning 
was  passing  away,  and  Rip  felt  famished  for  want  of  his  breakfast. 
He  grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and  gun;  he  dreaded  to  meet  his  wife; 
but  it  would  not  do  to  starve  among  the  mountains.  He  shook  his 
head,  shouldered  the  rusty  firelock,  and,  with  a  heart  full  of  trouble 
and  anxiety,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village  he  met  a  number  of  people,  but 
none  whom  he  knew,  which  somewhat  surprised  him,  for  he  had 
thought  himself  acquainted  with  every  one  in  the  country  round. 
Their  dress,  too,  was  of  a  different  fashion  from  that  to  which  he  was 
accustomed.  They  all  stared  at  him  with  equal  marks  of  surprise, 
and  whenever  they  cast  their  eyes  upon  him,  invariably  stroked 
their  chins.  The  constant  recurrence  of  this  gesture  induced  Rip, 
involuntarily,  to  do  the  same,  when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  found 
his  beard  had  grown  a  foot  long! 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A  troop  of  strange 
children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting  after  him,  and  pointing  at  his  gray 
beard.  The  dogs,  too,  not  one  of  which  he  recognized  for  an  old 
acquaintance,  barked  at  him  as  he  passed.  The  very  village  was 
altered;  it  was  larger  and  more  populous.  There  were  rows  of 


238  AMERICAN  PROSE 


houses  which  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  those  which  had  been  his 
familiar  haunts  had  disappeared.  Strange  names  were  over  the 
doors — strange  faces  at  the  windows — every  thing  was  strange. 
His  mind  now  misgave  him;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he 
and  the  world  around  him  were  not  bewitched.  Surely  this  was  his 
native  village,  which  he  had  left  but  the  day  before.  There  stood  the 
Kaatskill  mountains — there  ran  the  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance — there 
was  every  hill  and  dale  precisely  as  it  had  always  been — Rip  was 
sorely  perplexed — "That  flagon  last  night,"  thought  he,  "has 
addled  my  poor  head  sadly!" 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the  way  to  his  own 
house,  which  he  approached  with  silent  awe,  expecting  every  moment 
to  hear  the  shrill  voice  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  He  found  the  house 
gone  to  decay — the  roof  fallen  in,  the  windows  shattered,  and  the 
doors  off  the  hinges.  A  half-starved  dog  that  looked  like  Wolf  was 
skulking  about  it.  Rip  called  him  by  name,  but  the  cur  snarled, 
showed  his  teeth,  and  passed  on.  This  was  an  unkind  cut  indeed — 
"My  very  dog,"  sighed  poor  Rip,  "has  forgotten  me!" 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  Dame  Van  Winkle 
had  always  kept  in  neat  order.  It  was  empty,  forlorn,  and  appar- 
ently abandoned.  This  desolateness  overcame  all  his  connubial 
fears — he  called  loudly  for  his  wife  and  children — the  lonely  chambers 
rang  for  a  moment  with  his  voice,  and  then  all  again  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old  resort,  the  village 
inn — but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large  rickety  wooden  building  stood 
in  its  place,  with  great  gaping  windows,  some  of  them  broken  and 
mended  with  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over  the  door  was  painted, 
"The  Union  Hotel,  by  Jonathan  Doolittle."  Instead  of  the  great 
tree  that  used  to  shelter  the  quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now 
was  reared  a  tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top  that  looked 
like  a  red  night-cap,  and  from  it  was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which  was  a 
singular  assemblage  of  stars  and  stripes — all  this  was  strange  and 
incomprehensible.  He  recognized  on  the  sign,  however,  the  ruby 
face  of  King  George,  under  which  he  had  smoked  so  many  a  peace- 
ful pipe;  but  even  this  was  singularly  metamorphosed.  The  red  coat 
was  changed  for  one  of  blue  and  buff,  a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand 
instead  of  a  sceptre,  the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and 
underneath  was  painted  in  large  characters,  GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  239 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the  door,  but  none 
that  Rip  recollected.  The  very  character  of  the  people  seemed 
changed.  There  was  a  busy,  bustling,  disputatious  tone  about  it, 
instead  of  the  accustomed  phlegm  and  drowsy  tranquillity.  He 
looked  in  vain  for  the  sage  Nicholas  Vedder,  with  his  broad  face, 
double  chin,  and  fair  long  pipe,  uttering  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke 
instead  of  idle  speeches;  or  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling 
forth  the  contents  of  an  ancient  newspaper.  In  place  of  these,  a 
lean,  bilious-looking  fellow,  with  his  pockets  full  of  handbills,  was 
haranguing  vehemently  about  rights  of  citizens — elections — members 
of  congress — liberty — Bunker's  Hill — heroes  of  seventy-six — and 
other  words,  which  were  a  perfect  Babylonish  jargon  to  the  bewildered 
Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long  grizzled  beard,  his  rusty 
fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  an  army  of  women  and  children 
at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  tavern  politicians. 
They  crowded  round  him,  eyeing  him  from  head  to  foot  with  great 
curiosity.  The  orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and,  drawing  him  partly 
aside,  inquired  "on  which  side  he  voted?"  Rip  stared  in  vacant 
stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy  little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the 
arm,  and,  rising  on  tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear,  "Whether  he  was 
Federal  or  Democrat  ?"  Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  comprehend 
the  question;  when  a  knowing,  self-important  old  gentleman,  in  a 
sharp  cocked  hat,  made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to 
the  right  and  left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and  planting  himself 
before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm  akimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his 
cane,  his  keen  eyes  and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his 
very  soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "what  brought  him  to  the 
election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  mob  at  his  heels,  and 
whether  he  meant  to  breed  a  riot  in  the  village?" — "Alas!  gentle- 
men," cried  Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "I  am  a  poor  quiet  man,  a 
native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal  subject  of  the  king,  God  bless  him!" 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  bystanders — "A  tory!  a 
tory!  a  spy!  a  refugee!  hustle  him!  away  with  him!"  It  was  with 
great  difficulty  that  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  restored 
order;  and,  having  assumed  a  tenfold  austerity  of  brow,  demanded 
again  of  the  unknown  culprit,  what  he  came  there  for,  and  whom  he 
was  seeking  ?  The  poor  man  humbly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no 


240  AMERICAN  PROSE 


harm,  but  merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of  his  neighbors,  who 
used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"Well — who  are  they? — name  them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired,  "Where's 
Nicholas  Vedder  ?" 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old  man  replied, 
in  a  thin  piping  voice,  "Nicholas  Vedder!  why,  he  is  dead  and  gone 
these  eighteen  years!  There  was  a  wooden  tombstone  in  the  church- 
yard that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and  gone  too." 

"Where's  Brom  Butcher  ?" 

"Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of  the  war;  some 
say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point — others  say  he  was 
drowned  in  a  squall  at  the  foot  of  Antony's  Nose.  I  don't  know — 
he  never  came  back  again." 

"Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster?" 

"He  went  off  to  the  wars  too,  was  a  great  militia  general,  and  is 
now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these  sad  changes  in  his 
home  and  friends,  and  finding  himself  thus  alone  in  the  world.  Every 
answer  puzzled  him  too,  by  treating  of  such  enormous  lapses  of  time, 
and  of  matters  which  he  could  not  understand:  war — congress — 
Stony  Point; — he  had  no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but 
cried  out  in  despair,  "Does  nobody  here  know  Rip  Van  Winkle?" 

"Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle  ["exclaimed  two  or  three,  "Oh,  to  be  sure! 
that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder,  leaning  against  the  tree." 

Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of  himself,  as  he 
went  up  the  mountain:  apparently  as  lazy,  and  certainly  as  ragged. 
The  poor  fellow  was  now  completely  confounded.  He  doubted  his 
own  identity,  and  whether  he  was  himself  or  another  man.  In  the 
midst  of  his  bewilderment,  the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded  who 
he  was,  and  what  was  his  name  ? 

"God  knows,"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  wit's  end;  "I'm  not  myself — 
I'm  somebody  else — that's  me  yonder — no — that's  somebody  else 
got  into  my  shoes — I  was  myself  last  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on  the 
mountain,  and  they've  changed  my  gun,  and  every  thing's  changed, 
and  I'm  changed,  and  I  can't  tell  what's  my  name,  or  who  I  am!" 

The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod,  winK 
significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  foreheads.  There 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  241 

was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the  gun,  and  keeping  the  old 
fellow  from  doing  mischief,  at  the  very  suggestion  of  which  the  self- 
important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  retired  with  some  precipitation. 
At  this  critical  moment  a  fresh  comely  woman  pressed  through  the 
throng  to  get  a  peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby 
child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at  his  looks,  began  to  cry.  "Hush, 
Rip,"  cried  she,  "hush,  you  little  fool;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you." 
The  name  of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  all 
awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his  mind.  "What  is  your  name, 
my  good  woman  ?"  asked  he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 
.  "And  your  father's  name  ?" 

"Ah,  poor  man,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  his  name,  but  it's  twenty 
years  since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun,  and  never  has 
been  heard  of  since — his  dog  came  home  without  him;  but  whether 
he  shot  himself,  or  was  carried  away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can  tell. 
I  was  then  but  a  little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask;  but  he  put  it  with  a 
faltering  voice: 

"Where's  your  mother  ?" 

"Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since;  she  broke  a  blood- 
vessel in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New-England  pedler." 

There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  intelligence.  The 
honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He  caught  his  daughter 
and  her  child  in  his  arms.  "I  am  your  father!"  cried  he — "Young 
Rip  Van  Winkle  once — old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now! — Does  nobody 
know  poor  Rip  Van  Winkle  ?" 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering  out  from  among 
the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  peering  under  it  in  his  face 
for  a  moment,  exclaimed,  "Sure  enough!  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle — it  is 
himself!  Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbor — Why,  where  have 
you  been  these  twenty  long  years?" 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years  had  been 
to  him  but  as  one  night.  The  neighbors  stared  when  they  heard 
it;  some  were  seen  to  wink  at  each  other,  and  put  their  tongues 
in  their  cheeks:  and  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat, 
who,  when  the  alarm  was  over,  had  returned  to  the  field, 
screwed  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  shook  his  head — upon 


242  AMERICAN  PROSE 


which  there  was  a  general  shaking  of  the  head  throughout  the 
assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion  of  old  Peter 
Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the  road.  He  was  a 
descendant  of  the  historian  of  that  name,  who  wrote  one  of  the 
earliest  accounts  of  the  province.  Peter  was  the  most  ancient  inhabit- 
ant of  the  village,  and  well  versed  in  all  the  wonderful  events  and 
traditions  of  the  neighborhood.  He  recollected  Rip  at  once,  and 
corroborated  his  story  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner.  He  assured 
the  company  that  it  was  a  fact,  handed  down  from  his  ancestor  the 
historian,  that  the  Kaatskill  mountains  had  always  been  haunted 
by  strange  beings.  That  it  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hendrick 
Hudson,  the  first  discoverer  of  the  river  and  country,  kept  a  kind  of 
vigil  there  every  twenty  years,  with  his  crew  of  the  Half -moon; 
being  permitted  in  this  way  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  enterprise,  and 
keep  a  guardian  eye  upon  the  river,  and  the  great  city  called  by  his 
name.  That  his  father  had  once  seen  them  in  their  old  Dutch  dresses 
playing  at  nine-pins  in  a  hollow  of  the  mountain;  and  that  he  himself 
had  heard,  one  summer  afternoon,  the  sound  of  their  balls,  like  distant 
peals  of  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  up,  and  returned 
to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  election.  Rip's  daughter  took 
him  home  to  live  with  her;  she  had  a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and 
a  stout  cheery  farmer  for  a  husband,  whom  Rip  recollected  for  one 
of  the  urchins  that  used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's  son 
and  heir,  who  was  the  ditto  of  himself,  seen  leaning  against  the  tree, 
he  was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm;  but  evinced  an  hereditary 
disposition  to  attend  to  any  thing  else  but  his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits;  he  soon  found  many 
of  his  former  cronies,  though  all  rather  the  worse  for  the  wear  and 
tear  of  time;  and  preferred  making  friends  among  the  rising  genera- 
tion, with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favor. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived  at  that  happy 
age  when  a  man  can  be  idle  with  impunity,  he  took  his  place  once 
more  on  the  bench  at  the  inn  door,  and  was  reverenced  as  one  of  the 
patriarchs  of  the  village,  and  a  chronicle  of  the  old  times  "before 
the  war."  It  was  some  tune  before  he  could  get  into  the  regular 
track  of  gossip,  or  could  be  made  to  comprehend  the  strange  events 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  243 

that  had  taken  place  during  his  torpor.  How  that  there  had  been 
a  revolutionary  war — that  the  country  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of 
old  England — and  that,  instead  of  being  a  subject  of  his  Majesty 
George  the  Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the  United  States. 
Rip,  in  fact,  was  no  politician;  the  changes  of  states  and  empires 
made  but  little  impression  on  him;  but  there  was  one  species  of 
despotism  under  which  he  had  long  groaned,  and  that  was — petticoat 
government.  Happily  that  was  at  an  end;  he  had  got  his  neck  out 
of  the  yoke  of  matrimony,  and  could  go  in  and  out  whenever  he 
pleased,  without  dreading  the  tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  When- 
ever her  name  was  mentioned,  however,  he  shook  his  head,  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  cast  up  his  eyes;  which  might  pass  either  for  an 
expression  of  resignation  to  his  fate,  or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  arrived  at  Mr. 
Doolittle's  hotel.  He  was  observed,  at  first,  to  vary  on  some  points 
every  time  he  told  it,  which  was,  doubtless,  owing  to  his  having  so 
recently  awaked.  It  at  last  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale  I  have 
related,  and  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  neighborhood,  but 
knew  it  by  heart.  Some  always  pretended  to  doubt  the  reality  of 
it,  and  insisted  that  Rip  had  been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was 
one  point  on  which  he  always  remained  flighty.  The  old  Dutch 
inhabitants,  however,  almost(  universally  gave  it  full  credit.  Even 
to  this  day  they  never  hear  a  thunder-storm  of  a  summer  afternoon 
about  the  Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew 
are  at  their  game  of  nine-pins;  and  it  is  a  common  wish  of  all  hen- 
pecked husbands  in  the  neighborhood,  when  life  hangs  heavy  on  their 
hands,  that  they  might  have  a  quieting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle's  flagon. 

THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE 

A  Colloquy  in  Westminster  Abbey 

I  know  that  all  beneath  the  moon  decays, 
And  what  by  mortals  in  this  world  is  brought, 
In  time's  great  period  shall  return  to  nought. 

I  know  that  all  the  muse's  heavenly  lays, 
With  toil  of  sprite  which  are  so  dearly  bought, 
As  idle  sounds,  of  few  or  none  are  sought; 

That  there  is  nothing  lighter  than  mere  praise. 

— DRUMMOND  OF  HAWTHORNDEN. 


244  AMERICAN  PROSE 


There  are  certain  half-dreaming  moods  of  mind,  in  which  we 
naturally  steal  away  from  noise  and  glare,  and  seek  some  quiet 
haunt,  where  we  may  indulge  our  reveries  and  build  our  air  castles 
undisturbed.  In  such  a  mood  I  was  loitering  about -the  old  gray 
cloisters  of  Westminster  Abbey,  enjoying  that  luxury  of  wandering 
thought  which  one  is  apt  to  dignify  with  the  name  of  reflection; 
when  suddenly  an  interruption  of  madcap  boys  from  Westminster 
School,  playing  at  foot-ball,  broke  in  upon  the  monastic  stillness  of  the 
place,  making  the  vaulted  passages  and  mouldering  tombs  echo 
with  their  merriment.  I  sought  to  take  refuge  from  their  noise 
by  penetrating  still  deeper  into  the  solitudes  of  the  pile,  and  applied 
to  one  of  the  vergers  for  admission  to  the  library.  He  conducted 
me  through  a  portal  rich  with  the  crumbling  sculpture  of  former  ages, 
which  opened  upon  a  gloomy  passage  leading  to  the  chapter-house 
and  the  chamber  in  which  Doomsday  book  is  deposited.  Just 
within  the  passage  is  a  small  door  on  the  left.  To  this  the  verger 
applied  a  key;  it  was  double  locked,  and  opened  with  some  difficulty, 
as  if  seldom  used.  We  now  ascended  a  dark  narrow  staircase,  and, 
passing  through  a  second  door,  entered  the  library. 

I  found  myself  in  a  lofty  antique  hall,  the  roof  supported  by 
massive  joists  of  old  English  oak.  It  was  soberly  lighted  by  a  row 
of  gothic  windows  at  a  considerable  height  from  the  floor,  and  which 
apparently  opened  upon  the  roofs  of  the  cloisters.  An  ancient 
picture  of  some  reverend  dignitary  of  the  church  in  his  robes  hung 
over  the  fireplace.  Around  the  hall  and  in  a  small  gallery  were  the 
books,  arranged  in  carved  oaken  cases.  They  consisted  principally 
of  old  polemical  writers,  and  were  much  more  worn  by  time  than  use. 
In  the  centre  of  the  library  was  a  solitary  table  with  two  or  three 
books  on  it,  an  inkstand  without  ink,  and  a  few  pens  parched  by  long 
disuse.  The  place  seemed  fitted  for  quiet  study  and  profound  medi- 
tation. It  was  buried  deep  among  the  massive  walls  of  the  abbey, 
and  shut  up  from  the  tumult  of  the  world.  I  could  only  hear  now 
and  then  the  shouts  of  the  school-boys  faintly  swelling  from  the 
cloisters,  and  the  sound  of  a  bell  tolling  for  prayers,  echoing  soberly 
along  the  roofs  of  the  abbey.  By  degrees  the  shouts  of  merri- 
ment grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at  length  died  away;  the  bell 
ceased  to  toll,  and  a  profound  silence  reigned  through  the  dusky 
hall. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  245 

I  had  taken  down  a  little  thick  quarto,  curiously  bound  in 
parchment,  with  brass  clasps,  and  seated  myself  at  the  table  in 
a  venerable  elbow-chair.  Instead  of  reading,  however,  I  was  be- 
guiled by  the  solemn  monastic  air,  and  lifeless  quiet  of  the  place, 
into  a  train  of  musing.  As  I  looked  around  upon  the  old  volumes 
in  their  mouldering  covers,  thus  ranged  on  the  shelves,  and  appar- 
ently never  disturbed  in  their  repose,  I  could  not  but  consider  the 
library  a  kind  of  literary  catacomb,  where  authors,  like  mummies, 
are  piously  entombed,  and  left  to  blacken  and  moulder  in  dusty 
oblivion. 

How  much,  thought  I,  has  each  of  these  volumes,  now  thrust  aside 
with  such  indifference,  cost  some  aching  head!  how  many  weary 
days!  how  many  sleepless  nights!  How  have  their  authors  buried 
themselves  in  the  solitude  of  cells  and  cloisters;  shut  themselves 
up  from  the  face  of  man,  and  the  still  more  blessed  face  of  nature; 
and  devoted  themselves  to  painful  research  and  intense  reflection! 
And  all  for  what  ?  to  occupy  an  inch  of  dusty  shelf — to  have  the  title 
of  their  works  read  now  and  then  in  a  future  age,  by  some  drowsy 
churchman  or  casual  straggler  like  myself;  and  in  another  age  to  be 
lost,  even  to  remembrance.  Such  is  the  amount  of  this  boasted 
immortality.  A  mere  temporary  rumor,  a  local  sound;  like  the  tone 
of  that  bell  which  has  just  tolled  among  these  towers,  filling  the  ear 
for  a  moment — lingering  transiently  in  echo — and  then  passing  away 
like  a  thing  that  was  not! 

While  I  sat  half  murmuring,  half  meditating  these  unprofitable 
speculations  with  my  head  resting  on  my  hand,  I  was  thrumming  with 
the  other  hand  upon  the  quarto,  until  I  accidentally  loosened  the 
clasps;  when,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  the  little  book  gave  two  or 
three  yawns,  like  one  awaking  from  a  deep  sleep;  then  a  husky 
hem;  and  at  length  began  to  talk.  At  first  its  voice  was  very  hoarse 
and  broken,  being  much  troubled  by  a  cobweb  which  some  studious 
spider  had  woven  across  it;  and  having  probably  contracted  a  cold 
from  long  exposure  to  the  chills  and  damps  of  the  abbey.  In  a  short 
time,  however,  it  became  more  distinct,  and  I  soon  found  ifan  exceed- 
ingly fluent  conversable  little  tome.  Its  language,  to  be  sure,  was 
rather  quaint  and  obsolete,  and  its  pronunciation,  what,  in  the  present 
day,  would  be  deemed  barbarous;  but  I  shall  endeavor,  as  far  as  I  am 
able,  to  render  it  in  modern  parlance. 


246  AMERICAN  PROSE 


It  began  with  railings  about  the  neglect  of  the  world — about 
merit  being  suffered  to  languish  in  obscurity,  and  other  such  com- 
monplace topics  of  literary  repining,  and  complained  bitterly  that 
it  had  not  been  opened  for  more  than  two  centuries.  That  the 
dean  only  looked  now  and  then  into  the  library,  sometimes  took  down 
a  volume  or  two,  trifled  with  them  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  re- 
turned them  to  their  shelves.  "What  a  plague  do  they  mean," 
said  the  little  quarto,  which  I  began  to  perceive  was  somewhat  chol- 
eric, "what  a  plague  do  they  mean  by  keeping  several  thousand  vol- 
umes of  us  shut  up  here,  and  watched  by  a  set  of  old  vergers,  like  so 
many  beauties  in  a  harem,  merely  to  be  looked  at  now  and  then  by 
the  dean?  Books  were  written  to  give  pleasure  and  to  be  enjoyed; 
and  I  would  have  a  rule  passed  that  the  dean  should  pay  each  of  us 
a  visit  at  least  once  a  year;  or  if  he  is  not  equal  to  the  task,  let 
them  once  in  a  while  turn  loose  the  whole  school  of  Westminster 
among  us,  that  at  any  rate  we  may  now  and  then  have  an  airing." 

"Softly,  my  worthy  friend,"  replied  I,  "you  are  not  aware  how 
much  better  you  are  off  than  most  books  of  your  generation.  By 
being  stored  away  in  this  ancient  library,  you  are  like  the  treasured 
remains  of  those  saints  and  monarchs,  which  lie  enshrined  in  the 
adjoining  chapels;  while  the  remains  of  your  contemporary  mortals, 
left  to  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  have  long  since  returned  to  dust." 

"Sir,"  said  the  little  tome,  ruffling  his  leaves  and  looking  big, 
"I  was  written  for  all  the  world,  not  for  the  bookworms  of  a»  abbey. 
I  was  intended  to  circulate  from  hand  to  hand,  like  other  great 
contemporary  works;  but  here  have  I  been  clasped  up  for  more  than 
two  centuries,  and  might  have  silently  fallen  a  prey  to  these  worms 
that  are  playing  the  very  vengeance  with  my  intestines,  if  you  had 
not  by  chance  given  me  an  opportunity  of  uttering  a  few  last  words 
before  I  go  to  pieces." 

"My  good  friend,"  rejoined  I,  "had  you  been  left  to  the  circula- 
tion of  which  you  speak,  you  would  long  ere  this  have  been  no  more. 
To  judge  from  your  physiognomy,  you  are  now  well  stricken  in  years: 
very  few  of  your  contemporaries  can  be  at  present  in  existence;  and 
those  few  owe  their  longevity  to  being  immured  like  yourself  in  old 
libraries;  which,  suffer  me  to  add,  instead  of  likening  to  harems, 
you  might  more  properly  and  gratefully  have  compared  to  those 
infirmaries  attached  to  religious  establishments  for  the  benefit  of  the 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  247 

old  and  decrepit,  and  where,  by  quiet  fostering  and  no  employment, 
they  often  endure  to  an  amazingly  good-for-nothing  old  age.  You 
talk  of  your  contemporaries  as  if  in  circulation — where  do  we  meet 
with  their  works  ?  what  do  we  hear  of  Robert  Groteste,  of  Lincoln  ? 
No  one  could  have  toiled  harder  than  he  for  immortality.  He  is 
said  to  have  written  nearly  two  hundred  volumes.  He  built,  as  it 
were,  a  pyramid  of  books  to  perpetuate  his  name:  but,  alas!  the 
pyramid  has  long  since  fallen,  and  only  a  few  fragments  are  scattered 
in  various  libraries,  where  they  are  scarcely  disturbed  even  by  the 
antiquarian.  What  do  we  hear  of  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  the  historian, 
antiquary,  philosopher,  theologian,  and  poet?  He  declined  two 
bishoprics,  that  he  might  shut  himself  up  and  write  for  posterity; 
but  posterity  never  inquires  after  his  labors.  What  of  Henry  of 
Huntingdon,  who,  besides  a  learned  history  of  England,  wrote  a 
treatise  on  the  contempt  of  the  world,  which  the  world  has  revenged 
by  forgetting  him  ?  What  is  quoted  of  Joseph  of  Exeter,  styled  the 
miracle  of  his  age  in  classical  composition?  Of  his  three  great 
heroic  poems  one  is  lost  for  ever,  excepting  a  mere  fragment;  the 
others  are  known  only  to  a  few  of  the  curious  in  literature;  and  as  to 
his  love  verses  and  epigrams,  they  have  entirely  disappeared.  What 
is  in  current  use  of  John  Wallis,  the  Franciscan,  who  acquired  the 
name  of  the  tree  of  life?  Of  William  of  Malmsbury; — of  Simeon  of 
Durham; — of  Benedict  of  Peterborough; — of  John  Hanvill  of  St. 
Albans ; — of " 

"Prithee,  friend,"  cried  the  quarto,  in  a  testy  tone,  "how  old 
do  you  think  me  ?  You  are  talking  of  authors  that  lived  long  before 
my  time,  and  wrote  either  in  Latin  or  French,  so  that  they  in  a  manner 
expatriated  themselves,  and  deserved  to  be  forgotten;  but  I,  sir,  was 
ushered  into  the  world  from  the  press  of  the  renowned  Wynkyn  de 
Worde.  I  was  written  in  my  own  native  tongue  at  a  time  when  the 
language  had  become  fixed;  and  indeed  I  was  considered  a  model  of 
pure  and  elegant  English." 

(I  should  observe  that  these  remarks  were  couched  in  such 
intolerably  antiquated  terms,  that  I  have  had  infinite  difficulty  in 
rendering  them  into  modern  phraseology.) 

"I  cry  your  mercy,"  said  I,  "for  mistaking  your  age;  but  it 
matters  little:  almost  all  the  writers  of  your  time  have  likewise  passed 
into  forgetfulness;  and  De  Worde's  publications  are  mere  literary 


248  AMERICAN  PROSE 


rarities  among  book-collectors.  The  purity  and  stability  of  language, 
too,  on  which  you  found  your  claims  to  perpetuity,  have  been  the 
fallacious  dependence  of  authors  of  every  age,  even  back  to  the 
times  of  the  worthy  Robert  of  Gloucester,  who  wrote  his  history  in 
rhymes  of  mongrel  Saxon.  Even  now  many  talk  of  Spenser's  '  Well  of 
pure  English  undefiled'  as  if  the  language  ever  sprang  from  a  well 
or  fountain-head,  and  was  not  rather  a  mere  confluence  of  various 
tongues,  perpetually  subject  to  changes  and  intermixtures.  It  is 
this  which  has  made  English  literature  so  extremely  mutable,  and 
the  reputation  built  upon  it  so  fleeting.  Unless  thought  can  be 
committed  to  something  more  permanent  and  unchangeable  than 
such  a  medium,  even  thought  must  share  the  fate  of  every  thing  else, 
and  fall  into  decay.  This  should  serve  as  a  check  upon  the  vanity- 
and  exultation  of  the  most  popular  writer.  He  finds  the  language 
in  which  he  has  embarked  his  fame  gradually  altering,  and  subject 
to  the  dilapidations  of  tune  and  the  caprice  of  fashion.  He  looks 
back  and  beholds  the  early  authors  of  his  country,  once  the  favorites 
of  their  day,  supplanted  by  modern  writers.  A  few  short  ages  have 
covered  them  with  obscurity,  and  their  merits  can  only  be  relished  by 
the  quaint  taste  of  the  bookworm.  And  such,  he  anticipates,  will 
be  the  fate  of  his  own  work,  which,  however  it  may  be  admired  in  its 
day,  and  held  up  as  a  model  of  purity,  will  in  the  course  of  years  grow 
antiquated  and  obsolete;  until  it  shall  become  almost  as  unintelligible 
in  its  native  land  as  an  Egyptian  obelisk,  or  one  of  those  Runic 
inscriptions  said  to  exist  in  the  deserts  of  Tartary.  I  declare," 
added  I,  with  some  emotion,  "  when  I  contemplate  a  modern  library , 
filled  with  new  works,  in  all  the  bravery  of  rich  gilding  and  binding, 
I  feel  disposed  to  sit  down  and  weep;  like  the  good  Xerxes,  when  he 
surveyed  his  army,  pranked  out  in  all  the  splendor  of  military  array, 
and  reflected  that  in  one  hundred  years  not  one  of  them  would  be  in 
existence!" 

"Ah,"  said  the  little  quarto,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "I  see  how  it  is; 
these  modern  scribblers  have  superseded  all  the  good  old  authors.  I 
suppose  nothing  is  read  now-a-days  but  Sir  Philip  Sydney's  Arcadia, 
Sackville's  stately  plays,  and  Mhror  for  Magistrates,  or  the  fine-spun 
euphuisms  of  the  'unparalleled  John  Lyly.'" 

"There  you  are  again  mistaken,"  said  I;  "the  writers  whom 
you  suppose  in  vogue,  because  they  happened  to  be  so  when  you  were 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  249 

last  in  circulation,  have  long  since  had  their  day.  Sir  Philip  Sydney's 
Arcadia,  the  immortality  of  which  was  so  fondly  predicted  by  his 
admirers,  and  which,  in  truth,  is  full  of  noble  thoughts,  delicate 
images,  and  graceful  turns  of  language,  is  now  scarcely  ever  men- 
tioned. Sackville  has  strutted  into  obscurity;  and  even  Lyly, 
though  his  writings  were  once  the  delight  of  a  court,  and  apparently 
perpetuated  by  a  proverb,  is  now  scarcely  known  even  by  name.  A 
whole  crowd  of  authors  who  wrote  and  wrangled  at  the  time,  have 
likewise  gone  down,  with  all  their  writings  and  their  controversies. 
Wave  after  wave  of  succeeding  literature  has  rolled  over  them,  until 
they  are  buried  so  deep,  that  it  is  only  now  and  then  that  some  indus- 
trious diver  after  fragments  of  antiquity  brings  up  a  specimen  for 
the  gratification  of  the  curious. 

"For  my  part,"  I  continued,  "I  consider  this  mutability  of 
language  a  wise  precaution  of  Providence  for  the  benefit  of  the  world 
at  large,  and  of  authors  in  particular.  To  reason  from  analogy, 
we  daily  behold  the  varied  and  beautiful  tribes  of  vegetables  spring- 
ing up,  flourishing,  adorning  the  fields  for  a  short  time,  and  then  fad- 
ing into  dust,  to  make  way  for  their  successors.  Were  not  this  the 
case,  the  fecundity  of  nature  would  be  a  grievance  instead  of  a  blessing. 
The  earth  would  groan  with  rank  and  excessive  vegetation,  and  its 
surface  become  a  tangled  wilderness.  In  like  manner  the  works  of 
genius  and  learning  decline,  and  make  way  for.  subsequent  pro- 
ductions. Language  gradually  varies,  and  with  it  fade  away  the 
writings  of  authors  who  have  flourished  their  allotted  time;  other- 
wise, the  creative  powers  of  genius  would  overstock  the  world,  and 
the  mind  would  be  completely  bewildered  in  the  endless  mazes  of 
literature.  Formerly  there  were  some  restraints  on  this  excessive 
multiplication.  Works  had  to  be  transcribed  by  hand,  which  was 
a  slow  and  laborious  operation;  they  were  written  either  on  parch- 
ment, which  was  expensive,  so  that  one  work  was  often  erased  to 
make  way  for  another ;  or  on  papyrus,  which  was  fragile  and  extremely 
perishable.  Authorship  was  a  limited  and  unprofitable  craft,  pur- 
sued chiefly  by  monks  in  the  leisure  and  solitude  of  their  cloisters. 
The  accumulation  of  manuscripts  was  slow  and  costly,  and  confined 
almost  entirely  to  monasteries.  To  these  circumstances  it  may,  in 
some  measure,  be  owing  that  we  have  not  been  inundated  by  the 
intellect  of  antiquity;  that  the  fountains  of  thought  have  not  been 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


broken  up,  and  modern  genius  drowned  in  the  deluge.  But  the 
inventions  of  paper  and  the  press  have  put  an  end  to  all  these  re- 
straints. They  have  made  every  one  a  writer,  and  enabled  every 
mind  to  pour  itself  into  print,  and  diffuse  itself  over  the  whole  intel- 
lectual world.  The  consequences  are  alarming.  The  stream  of 
literature  has  swollen  into  a  torrent — augmented  into  a  river — 
expanded  into  a  sea.  A  few  centuries  since,  five  or  six  hundred 
manuscripts  constituted  a  great  library;  but  what  would  you  say  to 
libraries  such  as  actually  exist  containing  three  or  four  hundred 
thousand  volumes;  legions  of  authors  at  the  same  tune  busy;  and  the 
press  going  on  with  fearfully  increasing  activity,  to  double  and 
quadruple  the  number?  Unless  some  unforeseen  mortality  should 
break  out  among  the  progeny  of  the  muse,  now  that  she  has  become 
so  prolific,  I  tremble  for  posterity.  I  fear  the  mere  fluctuation  of 
language  will  not  be  sufficient.  Criticism  may  do  much.  It  increases 
with  the  increase  of  literature,  and  resembles  one  of  those  salutary 
checks  on  population  spoken  of  by  economists.  All  possible  en- 
couragement, therefore,  should  be  given  to  the  growth  of  critics,  good 
or  bad.  But  I  fear  all  will  be  in  vain;  let  criticism  do  what  it  may, 
writers  wiU  write,  printers  will  print,  and  the  world  will  inevitably 
be  overstocked  with  good  books.  It  will  soon  be  the  employment  of 
a  lifetime  merely  to  learn  their  names.  Many  a  man  of  passable 
information,  at  the  present  day,  reads  scarcely  any  thing  but  reviews; 
and  before  long  a  man  of  erudition  will  be  little  better  than  a  mere 
walking  catalogue." 

"My  very  good  sir,"  said  the  little  quarto,  yawning  most  drearily 
in  my  face,  "excuse  my  interrupting  you,  but  I  perceive  you  are 
rather  given  to  prose.  I  would  ask  the  fate  of  an  author  who  was 
making  some  noise  just  as  I  left  the  world.  His  reputation,  however, 
was  considered  quite  temporary.  The  learned  shook  their  heads  at 
him,  for  he  was  a  poor  half-educated  varlet,  that  knew  little  of  Latin, 
and  nothing  of  Greek,  and  had  been  obliged  to  run  the  country  for 
deer-stealing.  I  think  his  name  was  Shakspeare.  I  presume  he 
soon  sunk  into  oblivion." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "it  is  owing  to  that  very  man  that  the 
literature  of  his  period  has  experienced  a  duration  beyond  the  ordinary 
term  of  English  literature.  There  rise  authors  now  and  then,  who 
seem  proof  against  the  mutability  of  language,  because  they  have 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  251 

rooted  themselves  in  the  unchanging  principles  of  human  nature. 
They  are  like  gigantic  trees  that  we  sometimes  see  on  the  banks  of  a 
stream;  which,  by  their  vast  and  deep  roots,  penetrating  through 
the  mere  surface,  and  laying  hold  on  the  very  foundations  of  the  earth, 
preserve  the  soil  around  them  from  being  swept  away  by  the  ever- 
flowing  current,  and  hold  up  many  a  neighboring  plant,  and,  perhaps, 
worthless  weed,  to  perpetuity.  Such  is  the  case  with  Shakspeare, 
whom  we  behold  defying  the  encroachments  of  time,  retaining  in 
modern  use  the  language  and  literature  of  his  day,  and  giving  duration 
to  many  an  indifferent  author,  merely  from  having  flourished  in  his 
vicinity.  But  even  he,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  gradually  assuming  the  tint 
of  age,  and  his  whole  form  is  overrun  by  a  profusion  of  commentators, 
who,  like  clambering  vines  and  creepers,  almost  bury  the  noble  plant 
that  upholds  them." 

Here  the  little  quarto  began  to  heave  his  sides  and  chuckle,  until 
at  length  he  broke  out  in  a  plethoric  fit  of  laughter  that  had  well  nigh 
choked  him,  by  reason  of  his  excessive  corpulency.  "Mighty  well! " 
cried  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  breath,  "mighty  well!  and  so  you 
would  persuade  me  that  the  literature  of  an  age  is  to  be  perpetuated  by 
a  vagabond  deer-stealer!  by  a  man  without  learning;  by  a  poet,  for- 
sooth— a  poet!"  And  here  he  wheezed  forth  another  fit  of  laughter. 

I  confess  that  I  felt  somewhat  nettled  at  this  rudeness,  which, 
however,  I  pardoned  on  account  of  his  having  flourished  in  a  less 
polished  age.  I  determined,  nevertheless,  not  to  give  up  my  point. 

"Yes,"  resumed  I,  positively,  "a  poet;  for  of  all  writers  he  has 
the  best  chance  for  immortality.  Others  may  write  from  the  head, 
but  he  writes  from  the  heart,  and  the  heart  will  always  understand 
him.  He  is  the  faithful  portrayer  of  nature,  whose  features  are 
always  the  same,  and  always  interesting.  Prose  writers  are  volumi- 
nous and  unwieldy;  their  pages  are  crowded  with  commonplaces, 
and  then-  thoughts  expanded  into  tediousness.  But  with  the  true 
poet  every  thing  is  terse,  touching,  or  brilliant.  He  gives  the  choicest 
thoughts  in  the  choicest  language.  He  illustrates  them  by  every 
thing  that  he  sees  most  striking  in  nature  and  art.  He  enriches 
them  by  pictures  of  human  life,  such  as  it  is  passing  before  him.  His 
writings,  therefore,  contain  the  spirit,  the  aroma,  if  I  may  use  the 
phrase,  of  the  age  in  which  he  lives.  They  are  caskets  which  inclose 
within  a  small  compass  the  wealth  of  the  language — its  family  jewels, 


252  AMERICAN  PROSE 


which  are  thus  transmitted  in  a  portable  form  to  posterity.  The 
setting  may  occasionally  be  antiquated,  and  require  now  and  then  to 
be  renewed,  as  in  the  case  of  Chaucer;  but  the  brilliancy  and  intrinsic 
value  of  the  gems  continue  unaltered.  Cast  a  look  back  over  the 
long  reach  of  literary  history.  What  vast  valleys  of  dullness,  filled 
with  monkish  legends  and  academical  controversies!  what  bogs 
of  theological  speculations!  what  dreary  wastes  of  metaphysics! 
Here  and  there  only  do  we  behold  the  heaven-illumined  bards, 
elevated  like  beacons  on  their  widely-separate  heights,  to  transmit  the 
pure  light  of  poetical  intelligence  from  age  to  age." 

I  was  just  about  to  launch  forth  into  eulogiums  upon  the  poets 
of  the  day,  when  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door  caused  me  to  turn 
my  head.  It  was  the  verger,  who  came  to  inform  me  that  it  was 
time  to  close  the  library.  I  sought  to  have  a  parting  word  with  the 
quarto,  but  the  worthy  little  tome  was  silent;  the  clasps  were  closed: 
and  it  looked  perfectly  unconscious  of  all  that  had  passed.  I  have 
been  to  the  library  two  or  three  times  since,  and  have  endeavored 
to  draw  it  into  further  conversation,  but  in  vain;  and  whether  all 
this  rambling  colloquy  actually  took  place,  or  whether  it  was  another 
of  those  odd  day-dreams  to  which  I  am  subject,  I  have  never  to  this 
moment  been  able  to  discover. 


FROM 
TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 

THE   STROLLING  MANAGER 

As  I  was  walking  one  morning  with  Buckthorne  near  one  of  the 
principal  theatres,  he  directed  my  attention  to  a  group  of  those 
equivocal  beings  that  may  often  be  seen  hovering  about  the  stage- 
doors  of  theatres.  They  were  marvellously  ill-favored  in  their  attire, 
their  coats  buttoned  up  to  their  chins;  yet  they  wore  their  hats 
smartly  on  one  side,  and  had  a  certain  knowing,  dirty-gentlemanlike 
air,  which  is  common  to  the  subalterns  of  the  drama.  Buckthorne 
knew  them  well  by  early  experience. 

"These,"  said  he,  "are  the  ghosts  of  departed  kings  and  heroes; 
fellows  who  sway  sceptres  and  truncheons;  command  kingdoms  and 
armies;  and  after  giving  away  realms  and  treasures  over  night,  have 
scarce  a  shilling  to  pay  for  a  breakfast  in  the  morning.  Yet  they 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  253 

have  the  true  vagabond  abhorrence  of  all  useful  and  industrious 
employment;  and  they  have  their  pleasures  too;  one  of  which  is  to 
lounge  in  this  way  in  the  sunshine,  at  the  stage-door,  during  rehearsals, 
and  make  hackneyed  theatrical  jokes  on  all  passers-by.  Nothing 
is  more  traditional  and  legitimate  than  the  stage.  Old  scenery,  old 
clothes,  old  sentiments,  old  ranting,  and  old  jokes,  are  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation;  and  will  probably  continue  to  be  so 
until  time  shall  be  no  more.  Every  hanger-on  of  a  theatre  becomes 
a  wag  by  inheritance,  and  flourishes  about  at  tap-rooms  and  sixpenny 
clubs  with  the  property  jokes  of  the  green-room." 

While  amusing  ourselves  with  reconnoitring  this  group,  we  noticed 
one  in  particular  who  appeared  to  be  the  oracle.  He  was  a -weather- 
beaten  veteran,  a  little  bronzed  by  time  and  beer,  who  had  no  doubt 
grown  gray  in  the  parts  of  robbers,  cardinals,  Roman  senators,  and 
walking  noblemen. 

"There  is  something  in  the  set  of  that  hat,  and  the  turn  of  that 
physiognomy,  extremely  familiar  to  me,"  said  Buckthorne.  He 
looked  a  little  closer, — "I  cannot  be  mistaken,  that  must  be  my  old 
brother  of  the  truncheon,  Flimsey,  the  tragic  hero  of  the  Strolling 
Company." 

It  was  he  in  fact.  The  poor  fellow  showed  evident  signs  that 
times  went  hard  with  him,  he  was  so  finely  and  shabbily  dressed. 
His  coat  was  somewhat  threadbare,  and  of  the  Lord  Townly  cut; 
single  breasted,  and  scarcely  capable  of  meeting  in  front  of  his  body, 
which,  from  long  intimacy,  had  acquired  the  symmetry  and  robustness 
of  a  beer-barrel.  .  He  wore  a  pair  of  dingy-white  stockinet  pantaloons, 
which  had  much  ado  to  reach  his  waistcoat,  a  great  quantity  of  dirty 
cravat;  and  a  pair  of  old  russet-colored  tragedy  boots. 

When  his  companions  had  dispersed,  Buckthorne  drew  him 
aside,  and  made  himself  known  to  him.  The  tragic  veteran  could 
scarcely  recognize  him,  or  believe  that  he  was  really  his  quondam 
associate,  "little  gentleman  Jack."  Buckthorne  invited  him  to  a 
neighboring  coffee-house  to  talk  over  old  times;  and  in  the  course  of 
a  little  while  we  were  put  in  possession  of  his  history  in  brief. 

He  had  continued  to  act  the  heroes  in  the  strolling  company  for 
some  time  after  Buckthorne  had  left  it  or  rather  had  been  driven  from 
it  so  abruptly.  At  length  the  manager  died,  and  the  troop  was  thrown 
into  confusion.  Every  one  aspired  to  the  crown,  every  one  was  for 


254  AMERICAN  PROSE 


taking  the  lead;  and  the  manager's  widow,  although  a  tragedy 
queen,  and  a  brimstone  to  boot,  pronounced  it  utterly  impossible  for  a 
woman  to  keep  any  control  over  such  a  set  of  tempestuous  rascallions. 

"Upon  this  hint,  I  spoke,"  said  Flimsey.  I  stepped  forward, 
and  offered  my  services  in  the  most  effectual  way.  They  were 
accepted.  In  a  week's  time  I  married  the  widow,  and  succeeded 
to  the  throne.  "The  funeral  baked  meats  did  coldly  furnish  forth 
the  marriage  table,"  as  Hamlet  says.  But  the  ghost  of  my  predeces- 
sor never  haunted  me;  and  I  inherited  crowns,  sceptres,  bowls, 
daggers,  and  all  the  stage  trappings  and  trumpery,  not  omitting  the 
widow,  without  the  least  molestation. 

I  now  led  a  flourishing  life  of  it;  for  our  company  was  pretty 
strong  and  attractive,  and  as  my  wife  and  I  took  the  heavy  parts  of 
tragedy,  it  was  a  great  saving  to  the  treasury.  We  carried  off  the 
palm  from  all  the  rival  shows  at  country  fairs;  and  I  assure  you  we 
have  even  drawn  full  houses,  and  been  applauded  by  the  critics  at 
Bartlemy  Fair  itself,  though  we  had  Astley's  troop,  the  Irish  giant, 
and  "the  death  of  Nelson"  in  wax  work,  to  contend  against. 

I  soon  began  to  experience,  however,  the  cares  of  command.  I 
discovered  that  there  were  cabals  breaking  out  in  the  company,  headed 
by  the  clown,  who  you  may  recollect  was  a  terribly  peevish,  fractious 
fellow,  and  always  in  ill-humor.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  turn  him  off 
at  once,  but  I  could  not  do  without  him,  for  there  was  not  a  droller 
scoundrel  on  the  stage.  His  very  shape  was  comic,  for  he  had  but  to 
turn  his  back  upon  the  audience,  and  all  the  ladies  were  ready  to  die 
with  laughing.  He  felt  his  importance,  and  took  advantage  of  it. 
He  would  keep  the  audience  in  a  continual  roar,  and  then  come 
behind  the  scenes,  and  fret  and  fume,  and  play  the  very  devil.  I 
excused  a  great  deal  in  him,  however,  knowing  that  comic  actors  are 
a  little  prone  to  this  infirmity  of  temper. 

I  had  another  trouble  of  a  nearer  and  dearer  nature  to  struggle 
with,  which  was  the  affection  of  my  wife.  As  ill  luck  would  have 
it,  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  be  very  fond  of  me,  and  became 
intolerably  jealous.  I  could  not  keep  a  pretty  girl  in  the  company, 
and  hardly  dared  embrace  an  ugly  one,  even  when  my  part  required  it. 
I  have  known  her  to  reduce  a  fine  lady  to  tatters,  "to  very  rags,"  as 
Hamlet  says,  in  an  instant,  and  destroy  one  of  the  very  best  dresses 
in  the  wardrobe,  merely  because  she  saw  me  kiss  her  at  the  side 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  255 

scenes;  though  I  give  you  my  honor  it  was  done  merely  by  way  of 
rehearsal. 

This  was  doubly  annoying,  because  I  have  a  natural  liking  to 
pretty  faces,  and  wish  to  have  them  about  me;'  and  because  they  are 
indispensable  to  the  success  of  a  company  at  a  fair,  where  one  has  to 
vie  with  so  many  rival  theatres.  But  when  once  a  jealous  wife  gets  a 
freak  in  her  head,  there's  no  use  in  talking  of  interest  or  anything  else. 
Egad,  sir,  I  have  more  than  once  trembled  when,  during  a  fit  of  her 
tantrums,  she  was  playing  high  tragedy,  and  flourishing  her  tin  dagger 
on  the  stage,  lest  she  should  give  way  to  her  humor,  and  stab  some 
fancied  rival  in  good  earnest. 

I  went  on  better,  however,  than  could  be  expected,  considering 
the  weakness  of  my  flesh,  and  the  violence  of  my  rib.  I  had  not  a 
much  worse  time  of  it  than  old  Jupiter,  whose  spouse  was  continually 
ferreting  out  some  new  intrigue,  and  making  the  heavens  almost  too 
hot  to  hold  him. 

At  length,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  were  performing  at  a  country 
fair,  when  I  understood  the  theatre  of  a  neighboring  town  to  be 
vacant.  I  had  always  been  desirous  to  be  enrolled  in  a  settled  com- 
pany, and  the  height  of  my  desire  was  to  get  on  a  par  with  a  brother- 
in-law,  who  was  manager  of  a  regular  theatre,  and  who  had  looked 
down  upon  me.  Here  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  neglected.  I 
concluded  an  agreement  with  the  proprietors,  and  in  a  few  days 
opened  the  theatre  with  great  eclat. 

Behold  me  now  at  the  summit  of  my  ambition,  "the  high  top- 
gallant of  my  joy,"  as  Romeo  says.  No  longer  a  chieftain  of  a 
wandering  tribe,  but  a  monarch  of  a  legitimate  throne,  and  entitled  to 
call  even  the  great  potentates  of  Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane 
cousins.  You,  no  doubt,  think  my  happiness  complete.  Alas,  sir! 
I  was  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable  dogs  living.  No  one  knows,  who 
has  not  tried,  the  miseries  of  a  manager;  but  above  all  of  a  country 
manager.  No  one  can  conceive  the  contentions  and  quarrels  within 
doors,  the  oppressions  and  vexations  from  without.  I  was  pestered 
with  the  bloods  and  loungers  of  a  country  town,  who  infested  my 
green-room,  and  played  the  mischief  among  my  actresses.  But  there 
was  no  shaking  them  off.  It  would  have  been  ruin  to  affront  them; 
for  though  troublesome  friends,  they  would  have  been  dangerous 
enemies.  Then  there  were  the  village  critics  and  village  amateurs, 


256  AMERICAN  PROSE 


who  were  continually  tormenting  me  with  advice,  and  getting  into  a 
passion  if  I  would  not  take  it;  especially  the  village  doctor  and  the 
village  attorney,  who  had  both  been  to  London  occasionally,  and 
knew  what  acting  should  be. 

I  had  also  to  manage  as  arrant  a  crew  of  scapegraces  as  ever 
were  collected  together  within  the  walls  of  a  theatre.  .1  had  been 
obliged  to  combine  my  original  troop  with  some  of  the  former  troop 
of  the  theatre,  who  were  favorites  with  the  public.  Here  was  a 
mixture  that  produced  perpetual  ferment.  They  were  all  the  time 
either  fighting  or  frolicking  with  each  other,  and  I  scarcely  know  which 
mood  was  least  troublesome.  If  they  quarrelled,  every  thing  went 
wrong;  and  if  they  were  friends,  they  were  continually  playing  off 
some  prank  upon  each  other,  or  upon  me;  for  I  had  unhappily  ac- 
quired among  them  the  character  of  an  easy,  good-natured  fellow, — 
the  worst  character  that  a  manager  can  possess. 

Their  waggery  at  times  drove  me  almost  crazy;  for  there  is 
nothing  so  vexatious  as  the  hackneyed  tricks  and  hoaxes  and  pleas- 
antries of  a  veteran  band  of  theatrical  vagabonds.  I  relished  them 
well  enough,  it  is  true,  while  I  was  merely  one  of  the  company,  but 
as  a  manager  I  found  them  detestable.  They  were  incessantly  bring- 
ing some  disgrace  upon  the  theatre  by  their  tavern  frolics  and  their 
pranks  about  the  country  town.  All  my  lectures  about  the  impor- 
tance of  keeping  up  the  dignity  of  the  profession  and  the  respectability 
of  the  company  were  in  vain.  The  villains  could  not  sympathize 
with  the  delicate  feelings  of  a  man  in  station.  They  even  trifled 
with  the  seriousness  of  stage  business.  I  have  had  the  whole  piece 
interrupted,  and  a  crowded  audience  of  at  least  twenty-five  pounds 
kept  waiting,  because  the  actors  had  hid  away  the  breeches  of  Rosa- 
lind; and  have  known  Hamlet  to  stalk  solemnly  on  to  deliver  his 
soliloquy,  with  a  dish-clout  pinned  to  his  skirts.  Such  are  the  bale- 
ful consequences  of  a  manager's  getting  a  character  for  good-nature. 

I  was  intolerably  annoyed,  too,  by  the  great  actors  who  came  down 
starring,  as  it  is  called,  from-  London.  Of  all  baneful  influences,  keep 
me  from  that  of  a  London  star.  A  first-rate  actress  going  the  rounds 
of  the  country  theatres  is  as  bad  as  a  blazing  comet  whisking  about 
the  heavens,  and  shaking  fire  and  plagues  and  discords  from  its  tail. 

The  moment  one  of  these  "heavenly  bodies"  appeared  in  my 
horizon,  I  was  sure  to  be  in  hot  water.  My  theatre  was  overrun  by 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  257 

provincial  dandies,  copper-washed  counterfeits  of  Bond  Street 
loungers,  who  are  always  proud  to  be  in  the  train  of  an  actress  from 
town,  and  anxious  to  be  thought  on  exceeding  good  terms  with  her. 
It  was  really  a  relief  to  me  when  some  random  young  nobleman 
would  come  in  pursuit  of  the  bait,  and  awe  all  this  small  fry  at  a 
distance.  I  have  always  felt  myself  more  at  ease  with  a  nobleman 
than  with  the  dandy  of  a  country  town. 

And  then  the  injuries  I  suffered  in  my  personal  dignity  and  my 
managerial  authority  from  the  visits  of  these  great  London  actors! 
'Sblood,  sir,  I  was  no  longer  master  of  myself  on  my  throne.  I  was 
hectored  and  lectured  in  my  own  green-room,  and  made  an  absolute 
nincompoop  on  my  own  stage.  There  is  no  tyrant  so  absolute  and 
capricious  as  a  London  star  at  a  country  theatre.  I  dreaded  the  sight 
of  all  of  them,  and  yet  if  I  did  not  engage  them,  I  was  sure  of  having 
the  public  clamorous  against  me.  They  drew  full  houses,  and 
appeared  to  be  making  my  fortune;  but  they  swallowed  up  all  the 
profits  by  their  insatiable  demands.  They  were  absolute  tape- 
worms to  my  little  theatre;  the  more  it  took  in  the  poorer  it  grew. 
They  were  sure  to  leave  me  with  an  exhausted  public,  empty  benches, 
and  a  score  or  two  of  affronts  to  settle  among  the  townsfolk,  in  conse- 
quence of  misunderstandings  about  the  taking  of  places. 

But  the  worst  thing  I  had  to  undergo  in  my  managerial  career 
was  patronage.  Oh,  sir!  of  all  things  deliver  me  from  the  patronage 
of  the  great  people  of  a  country  town.  It  was  my  ruin.  You  must 
know  that  this  town,  though  small,  was  filled  with  feuds,  and  parties, 
and  great  folks;  being  a  busy  little  trading  and  manufacturing  town. 
The  mischief  was  that  their  greatness  was  of  a  kind  not  to  be  settled 
by  reference  to  the  court  calendar,  or  college  of  heraldry;  it  was  there- 
fore the  most  quarrelsome  kind  of  greatness  in  existence.  You  smile, 
sir,  but  let  me  tell  you  there  are  no  feuds  more  furious  than  the 
frontier  feuds  which  take  place  in  these  "debatable  lands  "of  gentility. 
The  most  violent  dispute  that  I  ever  knew  in  high  life  was  one  which 
occurred  at  a  country  town,  on  a  question  of  precedence  between  the 
ladies  of  a  manufacturer  of  pins  and  a  manufacturer  of  needles. 

At  the  town  where  I  was  situated  there  were  perpetual  alterca- 
tions of  the  kind.  The  head  manufacturer's  lady,  for  instance,  was 
at  daggers-drawings  with  the  head  shopkeeper's,  and  both  were  too 
rich  and  had  too  many  friends  to  be  treated  lightly.  The  doctor's 


258  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  lawyer's  ladies  held  their  heads  still  higher;  but  they  in  turn 
were  kept  in  check  by  the  wife  of  a  country  banker,  who  kept  her 
own  carriage;  while  a  masculine  widow  of  cracked  character  and 
second-handed  fashion,  who  lived  in  a  large  house  and  claimed  to  be  in 
some  way  related  to  nobility,  looked  down  upon  them  all.  To  be 
sure,  her  manners  were  not  over-elegant,  nor  her  fortune  over-large; 
but  then,  sir,  her  blood — oh,  her  blood  carried  it  all  hollow;  there 
was  no  withstanding  a  woman  with  such  blood  in  her  veins. 

After  all,  her  claims  to  high  connection  were  questioned,  and 
she  had  frequent  battles  for  precedence  at  balls  and  assemblies  with 
some  of  the  sturdy  dames  of  the  neighborhood,  who  stood  upon  their 
wealth  and  their  virtue;  but  then  she  had  two  dashing  daughters, 
who  dressed  as  fine  as  dragoons,  and  had  as  high  blood  as  their 
mother,  and  seconded  her  in  everything;  so  they  carried  their  point 
with  high  heads,  and  everybody  hated,  abused,  and  stood  in  awe  of 
the  Fantadlins. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  fashionable  world  in  this  self-important 
little  town.  Unluckily,  I  was  not  as  well  acquainted  with  its  politics 
as  I  should  have  been.  I  had  found  myself  a  stranger  and  in  great 
perplexities  during  my  first  season;  I  determined,  therefore,  to  put 
myself  under  the  patronage  of  some  powerful  name,  and  thus  to  take 
the  field  with  the  prejudices  of  the  public  in  my  favor.  I  cast  around 
my  thoughts  for  that  purpose,  and  in  an  evil  hour  they  fell  upon 
Mrs.  Fantadlin.  No  one  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  more  absolute 
sway  in  the  world  of  fashion.  I  had  always  noticed  that  her  party 
slammed  the  box-door  the  loudest  at  the  theatre;  and  had  most 
beaux  attending  on  them,  and  talked  and  laughed  loudest  during  the 
performance;  and  then  the  Miss  Fantadlins  wore  always  more 
feathers  and  flowers  than  any  other  ladies ;  and  used  quizzing-glasses 
incessantly.  The  first  evening  of  my  theatre's  reopening,  therefore, 
was  announced  in  staring  capitals  on  the  playbills,  as  under  the 
patronage  of  "The  Honorable  Mrs.  Fantadlin." 

Sir,  the  whole  community  flew  to  arms!  The  banker's  wife 
felt  her  dignity  grievously  insulted  at  not  having  the  preference; 
her  husband  being  high  bailiff  and  the  richest  man  in  the  place.  She 
immediately  issued  invitations  for  a  large  party,  for  the  night  of  the 
performance,  and  asked  many  a  lady  to  it  whom  she  never  had  noticed 
before.  Presume  to  patronize  the  theatre!  insufferable!  And 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  259 

then  for  me  to  dare  to  term  her  "The  Honorable!"  What  claim  had 
she  to  the  title  forsooth  ?  The  fashionable  world  had  long  groaned 
under  the  tyranny  of  the  Fantadlins,  and  were  glad  to  make  a  com- 
mon cause  against  this  new  instance  of  assumption.  Those,  too, 
who  had  never  before  been  noticed  by  the  banker's  lady  were  ready 
to  enlist  in  any  quarrel  for  the  honor  of  her  acquaintance.  All 
minor  feuds  were  forgotten.  The  doctor's  lady  and  the  lawyer's 
lady  met  together;  and  the  manufacturer's  lady  and  the  shopkeeper's 
lady  kissed  each  other;  and  all,  headed  by  the  banker's  lady,  voted 
the  theatre  a  bore,  and  determined  to  encourage  nothing  but  the 
Indian  Jugglers  and  Mr.  Walker's  Eidouranion. 

Alas  for  poor  Pillgarlick!  I  knew  little  the  mischief  that  was 
brewing  against  me.  My  box-book  remained  blank;  the  evening 
arrived;  but  no  audience.  The  music  struck  up  to  a  tolerable  pit 
and  gallery,  but  no  fashionables !  I  peeped  anxiously  from  behind  the 
curtain,  but  the  time  passed  away;  the  play  was  retarded  until  pit 
and  gallery  became  furious;  and  I  had  to  raise  the  curtain,  and  play 
my  greatest  part  in  tragedy  to  "a  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes." 

It  is  true  the  Fantadlins  came  late,  as  was  their  custom,  and 
entered  like  a  tempest,  with  a  nutter  of  feathers  and'red  shawls;  but 
they  were  evidently  disconcerted  at  finding  they  had  no  one  to 
admire  and  envy  them,  and  were  enraged  at  this  glaring  defection 
of  their  fashionable  followers.  All  the  beau-monde  were  engaged 
at  the  banker's  lady's  rout.  They  remained  for  some  time  in  solitary 
and  uncomfortable  state;  and  though  they  had  the  theatre  almost  to 
themselves,  yet,  for  the  first  time,  they  talked  in  whispers.  They 
left  the  house  at  the  end  of  the  first  piece,  and  I  never  saw  them 
afterwards. 

Such  was  the  rock  on  which  I  split.  I  never  got  over  the  patron- 
age of  the  Fantadlin  family.  My  house  was  deserted;  my  actors 
grew  discontented  because  they  were  ill  paid;  my  door  became  a 
hammering  place  for  every  bailiff  in  the  country;  and  my  wife  became 
more  and  more  shrewish  and  tormenting  the  more  I  wanted  comfort. 

I  tried  for  a  time  the  usual  consolation  of  a  harassed  and  hen- 
pecked man;  I  took  to  the  bottle,  and  tried  to  tipple  away  my  cares, 
but  in  vain.  I  don't  mean  to  decry  the  bottle;  it  is  no  doubt  an 
excellent  remedy  in  many  cases,  but  it  did  not  answer  in  mine. 
It  cracked  my  voice,  coppered  my  nose,  but  neither  unproved  my 


26o  AMERICAN  PROSE 


wife  nor  my  affairs.  My  establishment  became  a  scene  of  confusion 
and  peculation.  I  was  considered  a  ruined  man,  and  of  course  fair 
game  for  every  one  to  pluck  at,  as  every  one  plunders  a  sinking  ship. 
Day  after  day  some  of  the  troop  deserted,  and,  like  deserting  soldiers, 
carried  off  their  arms  and  accoutrements  with  them.  In  this  manner 
my  wardrobe  took  legs  and  walked  away,  my  finery  strolled  all  over 
the  country,  my  swords  and  daggers  glittered  in  every  barn,  until, 
at  last,  my  tailor  made  "one  fell  swoop,"  and  carried  off  three  dress- 
coats,  half  a  dozen  doublets,  and  nineteen  pair  of  flesh-colored 
pantaloons. 

This  was  the  "be  all  and  the  end  all"  of  my  fortune.  I  no  longer 
hesitated  what  to  do.  Egad,  thought  I,  since  stealing  is  the  order 
of  the  day,  I'll  steal  too.  So  I  secretly  gathered  together  the  jewels 
of  my  wardrobe,  packed  up  a  hero's  dress  in  <a  handkerchief,  slung  it 
on  the  end  of  a  tragedy  sword,  and  quietly  stole  off  at  dead  of  night, 
"the  bell  then  beating  one,"  leaving  my  queen  and  kingdom  to  the 
mercy  of  my  rebellious  subjects,  and  my  merciless  foes  the  bum- 
bailiffs. 

Such,  sir,  was  the  "end  of  all  my  greatness."  I  was  heartily 
cured  of  all  passion  for  governing,  and  returned  once  more  into  the 
ranks.  I  had  for  some  time  the  usual  run  of  an  actor's  life.  I 
played  in  various  country  theatres,  at  fairs,  and  in  barns;  sometimes 
hard  pushed,  sometimes  flush,  until,  on  one  occasion,  I  came  within 
an  ace  of  making  my  fortune,  and  becoming  one  of  the  wonders  of 
the  age. 

I  was  playing  the  part  of  Richard  the  Third  in  a  country  barn, 
and  in  my  best  style;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a  little  hi  liquor,  and 
the  critics  of  the  company  always  observed  that  I  played  with  most 
effect  when  I  had  a  glass  too  much.  There  was  a  thunder  of  applause 
when  I  came  to  that  part  where  Richard  cries  for  "a  horse!  a  horse! " 
My  cracked  voice  had  always  a  wonderful  effect  here;  it  was  like  two 
voices  run  into  one;  you  would  have  thought  two  men  had  been  calling 
for  a  horse,  or  that  Richard  had  called  for  two  horses.  And  when  I 
flung  the  taunt  at  Richmond,  "Richard  is  hoarse  with  calling  thee  to 
arms,"  I  thought  the  barn  would  have  come  down  about  my  ears  with 
the  raptures  of  the  audience. 

The  very  next  morning  a  person  waited  upon  me  at  my  lodgings. 
I  saw  at  once  he  was  a  gentleman  by  his  dress;  for  he  had  a  large 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  261 

brooch  in  his  bosom,  thick  rings  on  his  fingers,  and  used  a  quizzing- 
glass.  And  a  gentleman  he  proved  to  be;  for  I  soon  ascertained  that 
he  was  a  kept  author,  or  kind  of  literary  tailor  to  one  of  the  great 
London  theatres;  one  who  worked  under  the  manager's  directions, 
and  cut  up  and  cut  down  plays,  and  patched  and  pieced,  and  new 
faced,  and  turned  them  inside  out;  in  short,  he  was  one  of  the  readiest 
and  greatest  writers  of  the  day. 

He  was  now  on  a  foraging  excursion  in  quest  of  something  that 
might  be  got  up  for  a  prodigy.  The  theatre,  it  seems,  was  in  desper- 
ate condition — nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  it.  He  had  seen 
me  act  Richard  the  night  before,  and  had  pitched  upon  me  for  that 
miracle.  I  had  a  remarkable  bluster  in  my  style  and  swagger  in 
my  gait.  I  certainly  differed  from  all  other  heroes  of  the  barn:  so 
the  thought  struck  the  agent  to  bring  me  out  as  a  theatrical  wonder, 
as  the  restorer  of  natural  and  legitimate  acting,  as  the  only  one  who 
could  understand  and  act  Shakspeare  rightly. 

When  he  opened  his  plan  I  shrunk  from  it  with  becoming  modesty, 
for  well  as  I  thought  of  myself,  I  doubted  my  competency  to  such  an 
undertaking. 

I  hinted  at  my  imperfect  knowledge  of  Shakspeare,  having  played 
his  characters  only  after  mutilated  copies,  interlarded  with  a  great 
deal  of  my  own  talk  by  way  of  helping  memory  or  heightening  the 
effect. 

"So  much  the  better!"  cried  the  gentleman  with  rings  on  his 
fingers;  "so  much  the  better!  New  readings,  sir! — new  readings! 
Don't  study  a  line — let  us  have  Shakspeare  after  your  own  fashion." 

"But  then  my  voice  was  cracked;  it  could  not  fill  a  London 
theatre." 

"So  much  the  better!  so  much  the  better!  The  public  is  tired 
of  intonation — the  ore  rotunda  has  had  its  day.  No,  sir,  your  cracked 
voice  is  the  very  thing; — spit  and  splutter,  and  snap  and  snarl,  and 
'play  the  very  dog'  about  the  stage,  and  you'll  be  the  making  of  us." 

"But  then,"— I  could  not  help  blushing  to  the  end  of  my  very 
nose  as  I  said  it,  but  I  was  determined  to  be  candid, — "but  then," 
added  I,  "there  is  one  awkward  circumstance:  I  have  an  unlucky 
habit — my  misfortunes,  and  the  exposures  to  which  one  is  subjected 
in  country  barns,  have  obliged  me  now  and  then  to — to — take  a 
drop  of  something  comfortable — and  so — and  so" 


262  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"What!  you  drink?"  cried  the  agent,  eagerly. 

I  bowed  my  head  in  blushing  acknowledgment. 

"So  much  the  better!  so  much  the  better!  The  irregularities 
of  genius!  A  sober  fellow  is  commonplace.  The  public  like  an 
actor  that  drinks.  Give  me  your  hand,  sir.  You're  the  very  man 
to  make  a  dash  with." 

I  still  hung  back  with  lingering  diffidence,  declaring  myself 
unworthy  of  such  praise. 

"  'Sblood,  man,"  cried  he,  "no  praise  at  all.  You  don't  imagine  / 
think  you  a  wonder;  I  only  want  the  public  to  think  so.  Nothing  is 
so  easy  as  to  gull  the  public,  if  you  only  set  up  a  prodigy.  Common 
talent  anybody  can  measure  by  common  rule;  but  a  prodigy  sets  all 
rule  and  measurement  at  defiance." 

These  words  opened  my  eyes  in-  an  instant:  we  now  came  to  a 
proper  understanding,  less  flattering,  it  is  true,  to  my  vanity,  but 
much  more  satisfactory  to  my  judgment. 

It  was  agreed  that  I  should  make  my  appearance  before  a  London 
audience,  as  a  dramatic  sun  just  bursting  from  behind  the  clouds: 
one  that  was  to  banish  all  the  lesser  lights  and  false  fires  of  the  stage. 
Every  precaution  was  to  be  taken  to  possess  the  public  mind  at  every 
avenue.  The  pit  was  to  be  packed  with  sturdy  clappers;  the 
newspapers  secured  by  vehement  puffers;  every  theatrical  resort  to 
be  haunted  by  hireling  talkers.  In  a  word,  every  engine  of  theatrical 
humbug  was  to  be  put  in  action.  Wherever  I  differed  from  former 
actors,  it  was  to  be  maintained  that  I  was  right  and  they  were 
wrong.  If  I  ranted,  it  was  to  be  pure  passion;  if  I  were  vulgar, 
it  was  to  be  pronounced  a  familiar  touch  of  nature;  if  I  made  any 
queer  blunder,  it  was  to  be  a  new  reading.  If  my^ voice  cracked,  or  I 
got  out  in  my  part,  I  was  only  to  bounce,  and  grin,  and  snarl  at  the 
audience,  and  make  any  horrible  grimace  that  came  into  my  head, 
and  my  admirers  were  to  call  it  "a  great  point,"  and  to  fall  back 
and  shout  and  yell  with  rapture. 

"In  short,"  said  the  gentleman  with  the  quizzing-glass,  "strike 
out  boldly  and  bravely:  no  matter  how  or  what  you  do,  so  that  it  be 
but  odd  and  strange.  If  you  do  but  escape  pelting  the  first  night, 
your  fortune  and  the  fortune  of  the  theatre  is  made." 

I  set  off  for  London,  therefore,  in  company  with  the  kept  author, 
full  of  new  plans  and  new  hopes.  I  was  to  be  the  restorer  of  Shak- 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  263 

speare  and  Nature,  and  the  legitimate  drama;  my  very  swagger  was 
to  be  heroic,  and  my  cracked  voice  the  standard  of  elocution.  Alas, 
sir,  my  usual  luck  attended  me :  before  I  arrived  at  the  metropolis,  a 
rival  wonder  had  appeared;  a  woman  who  could  dance  the  slack  rope, 
and  run  up  a  cord  from  the  stage  to  the  gallery  with  fireworks  all 
round  her.  She  was  seized  on  by  the  manager  with  avidity.  She 
was  the  saving  of  the  great  national  theatre  for  the  season.  Nothing 
was  talked  of  but  Madame  Saqui's  fireworks  and  flesh-colored 
pantaloons;  and  Nature,  Shakspeare,  the  legitimate  drama,  and 
poor  Pillgarlick,  were  completely  left  in  the  lurch. 

When  Madame  Saqui's  performance  grew  stale,  other  wonders 
succeeded:  horses,  and  harlequinades,  and  mummery  of  all  kinds; 
until  another  dramatic  prodigy  was  brought  forward  to  play  the 
very  game  for  which  I  had  been  intended.  I  called  upon  the  kept 
author  for  an  explanation,  but  he  was  deeply  engaged  in  writing  a 
melodrama  or  a  pantomime,  and  was  extremely  testy  on  being 
interrupted  in  his  studies.  However,  as  the  theatre  was  in  some 
measure  pledged  to  provide  for  me,  the  manager  acted,  according  to 
the  usual  phrase,  "like  a  man  of  honor,"  "and  I  received  an  appoint- 
ment in  the  corps.  It  had  been  a  turn  of  a  die  whether  I  should  be 
Alexander  the  Great  or  Alexander  the  coppersmith — the  latter  carried 
it.  I  could  not  be  put  at  the  head  of  the  drama,  so  I  was  put  at  the 
tail  of  it.  In  other  words,  I  was  enrolled  among  the  number  of  what 
are  called  useful  men;  those  who  enact  soldiers,  senators,  and  Banquo's 
shadowy  line.  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  lot;  for  I  have 
always  been  a  bit  of  a  philosopher.  If  my  situation  was  not  splendid, 
it  at  least  was  secure;  and  in  fact  I  have  seen  half  a  dozen  prodigies 
appear,  dazzle,  burst  like  bubbles,  and  pass  away,  and  yet  here  I  am, 
snug,  unenvied,  and  unmolested,  at  the  foot  of  the  profession. 

You  may  smile;  but  let  me  tell  you,  we  "useful  men"  are  the 
only  comfortable  actors  on  the  stage.  We  are  safe  from  hisses,  and 
below  the  hope  of  applause.  We  fear  not  the  success  of  rivals,  nor 
dread  the  critic's  pen.  So  long  as  we  get  the  words  of  our  parts,  and 
they  are  not  often  many,  it  is  all  we  care  for.  We  have  our  own 
merriment,  our  own  friends,  and  our  own  admirers, — for  every  actor 
has  his  friends  and  admirers,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  The 
first-rate  actor  dines  with  the  noble  amateur,  and  entertains  a  fash- 
ionable table  with  scraps  and  songs  and  theatrical  slip-slop.  The 


264  AMERICAN  PROSE 


second-rate  Actors  have  their  second-rate  friends  and  admirers,  with 
whom  they  likewise  spout  tragedy  and  talk  slip-slop; — and  so  down 
even  to  us;  who  have  our  friends  and  admirers  among  spruce  clerks 
and  aspiring  apprentices — who  treat  us  to  a  dinner  now  and  then, 
and  enjoy  at  tenth  hand  the  same  scraps  and  songs  and  slip-slop 
that  have  been  served  up  by  our  more  fortunate  brethren  at  the 
tables  of  the  great. 

I  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  theatrical  life,  experience  what 
true  pleasure  is.  I  have  known  enough  of  notoriety  to  pity  the  poor 
devils  who  are  called  favorites  of  the  public.  I  would  rather  be  a 
kitten  in  the  arms  of  a  spoiled  child,  to  be  one  moment  petted  and 
pampered  and  the  next  moment  thumped  over  the  head  with  the 
spoon.  I  smile  to  see  our  leading  actors  fretting  themselves  with 
envy  and  jealousy  about  a  trumpery  renown,  questionable  in  its 
quality,  and  uncertain  in  its  duration.  I  laugh,  too,  though  of  course 
in  my  sleeve,  at  the  bustle  and  importance,  and  trouble  and  per- 
plexities of  our  manager — who  is  harassing  himself  to  death  in  the 
hopeless  effort  to  please  everybody. 

I  have  found  among  my  fellow-subalterns  two  or  three  quondam 
managers,  who  like  myself  have  wielded  the  sceptres  of  country 
theatres,  and  we  have  many  a  sly  joke  together  at  the  expense  of  the 
manager  and  the  public.  Sometimes,  too,  we  meet,  like  deposed 
and  exiled  kings,  talk  over  the  events  of  our  respective  reigns,  moralize 
over  a  tankard  of  ale,  and  laugh  at  the  humbug  of  the  great  and  little 
world;  which,  I  take  it,  is  the  essence  of  practical  philosophy. 


FROM 
THE  ALHAMBRA 

LEGEND   OF  THE  ARABIAN   ASTROLOGER 

In  old  times,  many  hundred  years  ago,  there  was  a  Moorish 
king  named  Aben  Habuz,  who  reigned  over  the  kingdom  of  Granada. 
He  was  a  retired  conqueror,  that  is  to  say,  one  who,  having  in  his 
more  youthful  days  led  a  life  of  constant  foray  and  depredation, 
now  that  he  was  grown  feeble  and  superannuated,  "languished  for 
repose,"  and  desired  nothing  more  than  to  live  at  peace  with  all  the 
world,  to  husband  his  laurels,  and  to  enjoy  in  quiet  the  possessions  he 
had  wrested  from  his  neighbors. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  265 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  this  most  reasonable  and  pacific 
old  monarch  had  young  rivals  to  deal  with;  princes  full  of  his  early 
passion  for  fame  and  fighting,  and  who  were  disposed  to  call  him  to 
account  for  the  scores  he  had  run  up  with  their  fathers.  Certain 
distant  districts  of  his  own  territories,  also,  which  during  the  days 
of  his  vigor  he  had  treated  with  a  high  hand,  were  prone,  now  that 
he  languished  for  repose,  to  rise  in  rebellion  and  threaten  to  invest 
him  in  his  capital.  Thus  he  had  foes  on  every  side;  and  as  Granada 
is  surrounded  by  wild  and  craggy  mountains,  which  hide  the  approach 
of  an  enemy,  the  unfortunate  Aben  Habuz  was  kept  in  a  constant 
state  of  vigilance  and  alarm,  not  knowing  in  what  quarter  hostilities 
might  break  out. 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  built  watch-towers  on  the  mountains 
and  stationed  guards  at  every  pass  with  orders  to  make  fires  by 
night  and  smoke  by  day,  on  the  approach  of  an  enemy.  His  alert 
foes,  baffling  every  precaution,  would  break  out  of  some  unthought-of 
defile,  ravage  his  lands  beneath  his  very  nose,  and  then  make  off 
with  prisoners  and  booty  to  the  mountains.  Was  ever  peaceable 
and  retired  conqueror  in  a  more  uncomfortable  predicament  ? 

While  Aben  Habuz  was  harassed  by  these  perplexities  and  moles- 
tations, an  ancient  Arabian  physician  arrived  at  his  court.  His 
gray  beard  descended  to  his  girdle,  and  he  had  every  mark  of  extreme 
age,  yet  he  had  travelled  almost  the  whole  way  from  Egypt  on  foot, 
with  no  other  aid  than  a  staff,  marked  with  hieroglyphics.  His 
fame  had  preceded  him.  His  name  was  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub; 
he  was  said  to  have  lived  ever  since  the  days  of  Mahomet,  and  to  be 
son  of  Abu  Ayub,  the  last  of  the  companions  of  the  Prophet.  He 
had,  when  a  child,  followed  the  conquering  army  of  Amru  into  Egypt, 
where  he  had  remained  many  years  studying  the  dark  sciences,  and 
particularly  magic,  among  the  Egyptian  priests. 

It  was,  moreover,  said  that  he  had  found  out  the  secret  of  pro- 
longing life,  by  means  of  which  he  had  arrived  to  the  great  age  of 
upwards  of  two  centuries,  though,  as  he  did  not  discover  the  secret 
until  well  stricken  in  years,  he  could  only  perpetuate  his  gray  hairs 
and  wrinkles. 

This  wonderful  old  man  was  honorably  entertained  by  the  king; 
who,  like  most  superannuated  monarchs,  began  to  take  physicians 
into  great  favor.  He  would  have  assigned  him  an  apartment  in  his 


206  AMERICAN  PROSE 


palace,  but  the  astrologer  preferred  a  cave  in  the  side  of  the  hill  which 
rises  above  the  city  of  Granada,  being  the  same  on  which  the  Al- 
hambra  has  since  been  built.  He  caused  the  cave  to  be  enlarged  so  as 
to  form  a  spacious  and  lofty  hall,  with  a  circular  hole  at  the  top, 
through  which,  as  through  a  well,  he  could  see  the  heavens  and 
behold  the  stars  even  at  mid-day.  The  walls  of  this  hall  were 
covered  with  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  with  cabalistic  symbols,  and  with 
the  figures  of  the  stars  in  their  signs.  This  hall  he  furnished  with 
many  implements,  fabricated  under  his  directions  by  cunning 
artificers  of  Granada,  but  the  occult  properties  of  which  were  known 
only  to  himself. 

In  a  little  while  the  sage  Ibrahim  became  the  bosom  counsellor 
of  the  king,  who  applied  to  him  for  advice  in  every  emergency. 
Aben  Habuz  was  once  inveighing  against  the  injustice  of  his  neigh- 
bors, and  bewailing  the  restless  vigilance  he  had  to  observe  to  guard 
himself  against  their  invasions;  when  he  had  finished,  the  astrologer 
remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied,  "Know,  O  king, 
that,  when  I  was  in  Egypt,  I  beheld  a  great  marvel  devised  by  a 
pagan  priestess  of  old.  On  a  mountain,  above  the  city  of  Borsa,  and 
overlooking  the  great  valley  of  the  Nile,  was  a  figure  of  a  ram,  and 
above  it  a  figure  of  a  cock,  both  of  molten  brass,  and  turning  upon  a 
pivot.  Whenever  the  country  was  threatened  with  invasion,  the 
ram  would  turn  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy,  and  the  cock  would 
crow;  upon  this  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  knew  of  the  danger, 
and  of  the  quarter  from  which  it  was  approaching,  and  could  take 
timely  means  to  guard  against  it." 

"God  is  great!"  exclaimed  the  pacific  Aben  Habuz,  "what  a 
treasure  would  be  such  a  ram  to  keep  an  eye  upon  these  mountains 
around  me;  and  then  such  a  cock,  to  crow  in  time  of  danger!  Allah 
Akbar!  how  securely  I  might  sleep  in  my  palace  with  such  sentinels 
on  the  top!" 

The  astrologer  waited  until  the  ecstasies  of  the  king  had  subsided, 
and  then  proceeded. 

"After  the  victorious  Amru  (may  he  rest  in  peace!)  had  finished 
his  conquest  of  Egypt,  I  remained  among  the  priests  of  the  land,  study- 
ing the  rites  and  ceremonies  of  their  idolatrous  faith,  and  seeking  to 
make  myself  master  of  the  hidden  knowledge  for  which  they  are 
renowned.  I  was  one  day  seated  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  conversing 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  267 

with  an  ancient  priest,  when  he  pointed  to  the  mighty  pyramids 
which  rose  like  mountains  out  of  the  neighboring  desert.  'Ah1  that 
we  can  teach  thee,'  said  he,  'is  nothing  to  the  knowledge  locked  up 
in  those  mighty  piles.  In  the  centre  of  the  central  pyramid  is  a 
sepulchral  chamber,  in  which  is  enclosed  the  mummy  of  the  high- 
priest  who  aided  in  rearing  that  stupendous  pile;  and  with  him  is 
buried  a  wondrous  book  of  knowledge,  containing  all  the  secrets  of 
magic  and  art.  This  book  was  given  to  Adam  after  his  fall,  and 
was  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation  to  King  Solomon  the 
Wise,  and  by  its  aid  he  built  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem.  How  it  came 
into  the  possession  of  the  builder  of  the  pyramids  is  known  to  Him 
alone  who  knows  all  things.' 

"When  I  heard  these  words  of  the  Egyptian  priest,  my  heart 
burned  to  get  possession  of  that  book.  I  could  command  the  services 
of  many  of  the  soldiers  of  our  conquering  army,  and  of  a  number  of  the 
native  Egyptians:  with  these  I  set  to  work,  and  pierced  the  solid 
mass  of  the  pyramid,  until,  after  great  toil,  I  came  upon  one  of  its 
interior  and  hidden  passages.  Following  this  up,  and  threading  a 
fearful  labyrinth,  I  penetrated  Into  the  very  heart  of  the  pyramid, 
even  to  the  sepulchral  chamber,  where  the  mummy  of  the  high- 
priest  had  lain  for  ages.  I  broke  through  the  outer  cases  of  the 
mummy,  unfolded  its  many  wrappers  and  bandages,  and  at  length 
found  the  precious  volume  on  its  bosom.  I  seized  it  with  a  trembling 
hand,  and  groped  my  way  out  of  the  pyramid,  leaving  the  mummy  in 
its  dark  and  silent  sepulchre,  there  to  await  the  final  day  of  resur- 
rection and  judgment." 

"Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  exclaimed  Aben  Habuz,  "thou  hast  been 
a  great  traveller,  and  seen  marvellous  things;  but  of  what  avail  to 
me  is  the  secret  of  the  pyramid,  and  the  volume  of  knowledge  of  the 
wise  Solomon  ?" 

"This  it  is,  O  king!  By  the  study  of  that  book  I  am  instructed  in 
all  magic  arts,  and  can  command  the  assistance  of  genii  to  accomplish 
my  plans.  The  mystery  of  the  Talisman  of  Borsa  is  therefore  familiar 
to  me,  and  such  a  talisman  can  I  make,  nay,  one  of  greater  virtues." 

"0  wise  son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  cried  Aben  Habuz,  "better  were 
such  a  talisman  than  all  the  watch-towers  on  the  hills,  and  sentinels 
upon  the  borders.  Give  me  such  a  safeguard,  and  the  riches  of  my 
treasury  are  at  thy  command." 


268  AMERICAN  PROSE 

The  astrologer  immediately  set  to  work  to  gratify  the  wishes  of 
the  monarch.  He  caused  a  great  tower  to  be  erected  upon  the  top 
of  the  royal  palace,  which  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  of  the  Albaycin. 
The  tower  was  built  of  stones  brought  from  Egypt,  and  taken,  it  is 
said,  from  one  of  the  pyramids.  In  the  upper  part  of  the  tower  was  a 
circular  hall,  with  windows  looking  towards  every  point  of  the  com- 
pass, and  before  each  window  was  a  table,  on  which  was  arranged, 
as  on  a  chess-board,  a  mimic  army  of  horse  and  foot,  with  the  effigy 
of  the  potentate  that  ruled  in  that  direction,  all  carved  of  wood.  To 
each  of  these  tables  there  was  a  small  lance,  no  bigger  than  a  bodkin, 
on  which  were  engraved  certain  Chaldaic  characters.  This  hall 
was  kept  constantly  closed,  by  a  gate  of  brass,  with  a  great  lock  of 
steel,  the  key  of  which  was  in  possession  of  the  king. 

On  the  top  of  the  tower  was  a  bronze  figure  of  a  Moorish  horse- 
man, fixed  on  a  pivot,  with  a  shield  on  one  arm,  and  his  lance  elevated 
perpendicularly.  The  face  of  this  horseman  was  towards  the  city, 
as  if  keeping  guard  over  it;  but  if  any  foe  were  at  hand,  the  figure 
would  turn  in  that  direction,  and  would  level  the  lance  as  if  for 
action. 

When  this  talisman  was  finished,  Aben  Habuz  was  all  impatient 
to  try  its  virtues,  and  longed  as  ardently  for  an  invasion  as  he  had 
ever  sighed  after  repose.  His  desire  was  soon  gratified.  Tidings 
were  brought,  early  one  morning,  by  the  sentinel  appointed  to  watch 
the  tower,  that  the  face  of  the  bronze  horseman  was  turned  towards 
the  mountains  of  Elvira,  and  that  his  lance  pointed  directly  against 
the  Pass  of  Lope. 

"Let  the  drums  and  trumpets  sound  to  arms,  and  all  Granada 
be  put  on  the  alert,"  said  Aben  Habuz. 

"O  king,"  said  the  astrologer,  "let  not  your  city  be  disquieted, 
nor  your  warriors  called  to  arms;  we  need  no  aid  of  force  to  deliver 
you  from  your  enemies.  Dismiss  your  attendants,  and  let  us  pro- 
ceed alone  to  the  secret  hall  of  the  tower." 

The  ancient  Aben  Habuz  mounted  the  staircase  of  the  tower, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  still  more  ancient  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub. 
They  unlocked  the  brazen  door  and  entered.  The  window  that 
looked  towards  the  Pass  of  Lope  was  open.  "In  this  direction," 
said  the  astrologer,  "lies  the  danger;  approach,  O  king,  and  behold 
the  mystery  of  the  table." 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  269 

King  Aben  Habuz  approached  the  seeming  chess-board,  on 
which  were  arranged  the  small  wooden  effigies,  when,  to  his  surprise, 
he  perceived  that  they  were  all  in  motion.  The  horses  pranced  and 
curveted,  the  warriors  brandished  their  weapons,  and  there  was  a 
faint  sound  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  clang  of  arms,  and  neigh- 
ing of  steeds;  but  all  no  louder,  nor  more  distinct,  than  the  hum  of 
the  bee,  or  the  summer-fly,  hi  the  drowsy  ear  of  him  who  lies  at 
noontide  in  the  shade. 

"Behold,  O  king,"  said  the  astrologer,  "a  proof  that  thy  enemies 
are  even  now  in  the  field.  They  must  be  advancing  through  yonder 
mountains,  by  the  Pass  of  Lope.  Would  you  produce  a  panic  and 
confusion  amongst  them,  and  cause  them  to  retreat  without  loss  of 
life,  strike  these  effigies  with  the  but-end  of  this  magic  lance;  would 
you  cause  bloody  feud  and  carnage,  strike  with  the  point." 

A  livid  streak  passed  across  the  countenance  of  Aben  Habuz; 
he  seized  the  lance  with  trembling  eagerness;  his  gray  beard  wagged 
with  exultation  as  he  tottered  toward  the  table:  "Son  of  Abu  Ayub," 
exclaimed  he,  in  chuckling  tone,  "I  think  we  will  have  a  little 
blood!" 

So  saying,  he  thrust  the  magic  lance  into  some  of  the  pigmy 
effigies,  and  belabored  others  with  the  but-end,  upon  which  the 
former  fell  as  dead  upon  the  board,  and  the  rest,  turning  upon  each 
other,  began,  pell-mell,  a  chance-medley  fight. 

It  was  with  difficulty  the  astrologer  could  stay  the  hand  of 
the  most  pacific  of  monarchs,  and  prevent  him  from  absolutely 
exterminating  his  foes;  at  length  he  prevailed  upon  him  to  leave 
the  tower,  and  to  send  out  scouts  to  the  mountains  by  the  Pass 
of  Lope. 

They  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  a  Christian  army  had 
advanced  through  the  heart  of  the  Sierra,  almost  within  sight  of 
Granada,  where  a  dissension  had  broken  out  among  them;  they  had 
turned  their  weapons  against  each  other,  and  after  much  slaughter 
had  retreated  over  the  border. 

Aben  Habuz  was  transported  with  joy  on  thus  proving  the 
efficacy  of  the  talisman.  "At  length,"  said  he,  "I  shall  lead  a  life 
of  tranquillity,  and  have  all  my  enemies  in  my  power.  O  wise 
son  of  Abu  Ayub,  what  can  I  bestow  on  thee  in  reward  for  such  a 
blessing  ?" 


270  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"The  wants  of  an  old  man  and  a  philosopher,  O  king,  are  few 
and  simple;  grant  me  but  the  means  of  fitting  up  my  cave  as  a  suitable 
hermitage,  and  I  am  content." 

"How  noble  is  the  moderation  of  the  truly  wise!"  exclaimed 
Aben  Habuz,  secretly  pleased  at  the  cheapness  of  the  recompense. 
He  summoned  his  treasurer,  and  bade  him  dispense  whatever  sums 
might  be  required  by  Ibrahim  to  complete  and  furnish  his  hermitage. 

The  astrologer  now  gave  orders  to  have  various  chambers  hewn 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  so  as  to  form  ranges  of  apartments  connected 
with  his  astrological  hall;  these  he  caused  to  be  furnished  with 
luxurious  ottomans  and  divans,  and  the  walls  to  be  hung  with  the 
richest  silks  of  Damascus.  "I  am  an  old  man,"  said  he,  "and  can 
no  longer  rest  my  bones  on  stone  couches,  and  these  damp  walls 
require  covering." 

He  had  baths  too  constructed,  and  provided  with  all  kinds  of 
perfumes  and  aromatic  oils:  "For  a  bath,"  said  he,  "is  necessary  to 
counteract  the  rigidity  of  age,  and  to  restore  freshness  and  suppleness 
to  the  frame  withered  by  study." 

He  caused  the  apartments  to  be  hung  with  innumerable  silver 
and  crystal  lamps,  which  he  filled  with  a  fragrant  oil  prepared  accord- 
ing to  a  receipt  discovered  by  him  in  the  tombs  of  Egypt.  This  oil 
was  perpetual  in  its  nature,  and  diffused  a  soft  radiance  like  the 
tempered  light  of  day.  "The  light  of  the  sun,"  said  he,  "is  too 
garish  and  violent  for  the  eyes  of  an  old  man,  and  the  light  of  the 
lamp  is  more  congenial  to  the  studies  of  a  philosopher." 

The  treasurer  of  King  Aben  Habuz  groaned  at  the  sums  daily 
demanded  to  fit  up  this  hermitage,  and  he  carried  his  complaints  to 
the  king.  The  royal  word,  however,  had  been  given;  Aben  Habuz 
shrugged  his  shoulders:  "We  must  have  patience,"  said  he;  "this 
old  man  has  taken  his  idea  of  a  philosophic  retreat  from  the  interior 
of  the  pyramids,  and  of  the  vast  ruins  of  Egypt;  but  all  things  have 
an  end,  and  so  will  the  furnishing  of  his  cavern." 

The  king  was  in  the  right;  the  hermitage  was  at  length  complete, 
and  formed  a  sumptuous  subterranean  palace.  The  astrologer  ex- 
pressed himself  perfectly  content,  and,  shutting  himself  up,  remained 
for  three  whole  days  buried  in  study.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he 
appeared  again  before  the  treasurer.  "One  thing  more  is  necessary," 
said  he,  "one  trifling  solace  for  the  intervals  of  mental  labor." 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  271 

"0  wise  Ibrahim,  I  am  bound  to  furnish  everything  necessary 
for  thy  solitude;  what  more  dost  thou  require  ?  " 

"I  would  fain  have  a  few  dancing- women." 

"Dancing- women!"  echoed  the  treasurer,  with  surprise. 

"Dancing- women,"  replied  the  sage,  gravely:  "and  let  them  be 
young  and  fair  to  look  upon;  for  the  sight  of  youth  and  beauty  is 
refreshing.  A  few  will  suffice,  for  I  am  a  philosopher  of  simple 
habits  and  easily  satisfied." 

While  the  philosophic  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub  passed  his 
time  thus  sagely  in  his  hermitage,  the  pacific  Aben  Habuz 
carried  on  furious  campaigns  in  effigy  in  his  tower.  It  was  a 
glorious  thing  for  an  old  man,  like  himself,  of  quiet  habits,  to 
have  war  made  easy,  and  to  be  enabled  to  amuse  himself  in  his 
chamber  by  brushing  away  whole  armies  like  so  many  swarms  of 
flies. 

For  a  time  he  rioted  in  the  indulgence  of  his  humors,  and  even 
taunted  and  insulted  his  neighbors,  to  induce  them  to  make  incursions; 
but  by  degrees  they  grew  wary  from  repeated  disasters,  until  no 
one  ventured  to  invade  his  territories.  For  many  months  the 
bronze  horseman  remained  on  the  peace  establishment,  with  his 
lance  elevated  in  the  air;  and  the  worthy  old  monarch  began  to 
repine  at  the  want  of  his  accustomed  sport,  and  to  grow  peevish  at 
his  monotonous  tranquillity. 

At  length,  one  day,  the  talismanic  horseman  veered  suddenly 
round,  and  lowering  his  lance,  made  a  dead  point  towards  the  moun- 
tains of  Guadix.  Aben  Habuz  hastened  to  his  tower,  but  the  magic 
table  in  that  direction  remained  quiet:  not  a  single  warrior  was  in 
motion.  Perplexed  at  the  circumstance,  he  sent  forth  a  troop  of 
horse  to  scour  the  mountains  and  reconnoitre.  They  returned  after 
three  days'  absence. 

"We  have  searched  every  mountain  pass,"  said  they,  "but 
not  a  helm  nor  spear  was  stirring.  All  that  we  have  found  in  the 
course  of  our  foray,  was  a  Christian  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty, 
sleeping  at  noontide  beside  a  fountain,  whom  we  have  brought  away 
captive." 

"A  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty!"  exclaimed  Aben  Habuz,  his 
eyes  gleaming  with  animation;  "let  her  be  conducted  into  my  pres- 


272  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  beautiful  damsel  was  accordingly  conducted  into  his  presence. 
She  was  arrayed  with  all  the  luxury  of  ornament  that  had  prevailed 
among  the  Gothic  Spaniards  at  the  time  of  the  Arabian  conquest. 
Pearls  of  dazzling  whiteness  were  entwined  with  her  raven  tresses; 
and  jewels  sparkled  on  her  forehead,  rivalling  the  lustre  of  her  eyes. 
Around  her  neck  was  a  golden  chain,  to  which  was  suspended  a  silver 
lyre,  which  hung  by  her  side. 

The  flashes  of  her  dark  refulgent  eye  were  like  sparks  of  fire  on 
the  withered,  yet  combustible,  heart  of  Aben  Habuz;  the  swimming 
voluptuousness  of  her  gait  made  his  senses  reel.  "Fairest  of  women," 
cried  he,  with  rapture,  "who  and  what  art  thou?" 

"The  daughter  of  one  of  the  Gothic  princes,  who  but  lately 
ruled  over  this  land.  The  armies  of  my  father  have  been  destroyed 
as  if  by  magic,  among  these  mountains;  he  has  been  driven  into 
exile,  and  his  daughter  is  a  captive. 

"Beware,  O  king!"  whispered  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub,  "this 
may  be  one  of  those  northern  sorceresses  of  whom  we  have  heard, 
who  assume  the  most  seductive  forms  to  beguile  the  unwary.  Me- 
thinks  I  read  witchcraft  in  her  eye,  and  sorcery  in  every  movement. 
Doubtless  this  is  the  enemy  pointed  out  by  the  talisman." 

"Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  replied  the  king,  "thou  art  a  wise  man,  I 
grant,  a  conjurer  for  aught  I  know;  but  thou  art  little  versed  in  the 
ways  of  woman.  In  that  knowledge  will  I  yield  to  no  man;  no, 
not  to  the  wise  Solomon  himself,  notwithstanding  the  number  of  his 
wives  and  concubines.  As  to  this  damsel,  I  see  no  harm  in  her;  she 
is  fair  to  look  upon,  and  finds  favor  in  my  eyes." 

"Hearken,  0  king!"  replied  the  astrologer.  "I  have  given  thee 
many  victories  by  means  of  my  talisman,  but  have  never  shared  any 
of  the  spoil.  Give  me  then  this  stray  captive,  to  solace  me  in  my 
solitude  with  her  silver  lyre.  If  she  be  indeed  a  sorceress,  I  have 
counter  spells  that  set  her  charms  at  defiance." 

"What!  more  women!"  cried  Aben  Habuz.  "Hast  thou  not 
already  dancing-women  enough  to  solace  thee?" 

"Dancing- women  have  I,  it  is  true,  but  no  singing- women.  I 
would  fain  have  a  little  minstrelsy  to  refresh  my  mind  when  weary 
with  the  toils  of  study." 

"A  truce  with  thy  hermit  cravings,"  said  the  king,  impatiently. 
"This  damsel  have  I  marked  for  my  own.  I  see  much  comfort 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  273 

in  her;  even  such  comfort  as  David,  the  father  of  Solomon  the  Wise, 
found  in  the  society  of  Abishag  the  Shunamite." 

Further  solicitations  and  remonstrances  of  the  astrologer  only 
provoked  a  more  peremptory  reply  from  the  monarch,  and  they  parted 
in  high  displeasure.  The  sage  shut  himself  up  in  his  hermitage  to 
brood  over  his  disappointment;  ere  he  departed,  however,  he  gave  the 
king  one  more  warning  to  beware  of  his  dangerous  captive.  But 
where  is  the  old  man  in  love  that  will  listen  to  counsel  ?  Aben  Habuz 
resigned  himself  to  the  full  sway  of  his  passion.  His  only  study  was 
how  to  render  himself  amiable  in  the  eyes  of  the  Gothic  beauty'.  He 
had  not  youth  to  recommend  him,  it  is  true,  but  then  he  had  riches; 
and  when  a  lover  is  old,  he  is  generally  generous.  The  Zacatin  of 
Granada  was  ransacked  for  the  most  precious  merchandise  of  the 
East;  silks,  jewels,  precious  gems,  exquisite  perfumes,  all  that  Asia 
and  Africa  yielded  of  rich  and  rare,  were  lavished  upon  the  princess. 
All  kinds  of  spectacles  and  festivities  were  devised  for  her  entertain- 
ment; minstrelsy,  dancing  tournaments,  bull-fights; — Granada 
for  a  time  was  a  scene  of  perpetual  pageant.  The  Gothic  prin- 
cess regarded  all  this  splendor  with  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to 
magnificence.  She  received  everything  as  a  homage  due  to  her  rank, 
or  rather  to  her  beauty;  for  beauty  is  more  lofty  in  its  exactions  even 
than  rank.  Nay,  she  seemed  to  take  a  secret  pleasure  in  exciting  the 
monarch  to  expenses  that  made  his  treasury  shrink,  and  then  treating 
his  extravagant  generosity  as  a  mere  matter  of  course.  With  all  his 
assiduity  and  munificence,  also,  the  venerable  lover  could  not  flatter 
himself  that  he  had  made  any  impression  on  her  heart.  She  never 
frowned  on  him,  it  is  true,  but  then  she  never  smiled.  Whenever 
he  began  to  plead  his  passion,  she  struck  her  silver  lyre.  There  was 
a  mystic  charm  in  the  sound.  In  an  instant  the  monarch  began  to 
nod;  a  drowsiness  stole  over  him,  and  he  gradually  sank  into  a  sleep, 
from  which  he  awoke  wonderfully  refreshed,  but  perfectly  cooled  for 
the  time  of  his  passion.  This  was  very  baffling  to  his  suit;  but  then 
these  slumbers  were  accompanied  by  agreeable  dreams,  which  com- 
pletely in  thralled  the  senses  of  the  drowsy  lover;  so  he  continued  to 
dream  on,  while  all  Granada  scoffed  at  his  infatuation,  and  groaned 
at  the  treasures  lavished  for  a  song. 

At  length  a  danger  burst  on  the  head  of  Aben  Habuz,  against 
which  his  talisman  yielded  him  no  warning.  An  insurrection  broke 


274  AMERICAN  PROSE 


out  in  his  very  capital;  his  palace  was  surrounded  by  an  armed 
rabble,  who  menaced  his  life  and  the  life  of  his  Christian  paramour. 
A  spark  of  his  ancient  warlike  spirit  was  awakened  in  the  breast  of 
the  monarch.  At  the  head  of  a  handful  of  his  guards  he  sallied 
forth,  put  the  rebels  to  flight,  and  crushed  the  insurrection  in  the  bud. 

When  quiet  was  again  restored,  he  sought  the  astrologer,  who 
still  remained  shut  up  in  his  hermitage,  chewing  the  bitter  cud  of 
resentment. 

Aben  Habuz  approached  him  with  a  conciliatory  tone.  "0 
wise  s*on  of  Abu  Ayub,"  said  he,  "well  didst  thou  predict  dangers  to 
me  from  this  captive  beauty:  tell  me  then,  thou  who  art  so  quick 
at  foreseeing  peril,  what  I  should  do  to  avert  it." 

"Put  from  thee  the  infidel  damsel  who  is  the  cause." 

"Sooner  would  I  part  with  my  kingdom,"  cried  Aben  Habuz. 

"Thou  art  in  danger  of  losing  both,"  replied  the  astrologer. 

"Be  not  harsh  and  angry,  O  most  profound  of  philosophers; 
consider  the  double  distress  of  a  monarch  and  a  lover,  and  devise 
some  means  of  protecting  me  from  the  evils  by  which  I  am  menaced. 
I  care  not  for  grandeur,  I  care  not  for  power,  I  languish  only  for 
repose;  would  that  I  had  some  quiet  retreat  where  I  might  take 
refuge  from  the  world,  and  all  its  cares,  and  pomps,  and  troubles,  and 
devote  the  remainder  of  my  days  to  tranquillity  and  love." 

The  astrologer  regarded  him  for  a  moment  from  under  his  bushy 
eyebrows. 

"And  what  wouldst  thou  give,  if  I  could  provide  thee  such  a 
retreat  ?" 

"Thou  shouldst  name  thy  own  reward;  and  whatever  it  might 
be,  if  within  the  scope  of  my  power,  as  my  soul  liveth,  it  should  be 
thine." 

"Thou  hast  heard,  O  king,  of  the  garden  of  Irem,  one  of  the 
prodigies  of  Arabia  the  happy." 

"I  have  heard  of  that  garden;  it  is  recorded  in  the  Koran,  even 
in  the  chapter  entitled  'The  Dawn  of  Day.'  I  have,  moreover, 
heard  marvellous  things  related  of  it  by  pilgrims  who  had  been  to 
Mecca;  but  I  considered  them  wild  fables,  such  as  travellers  are 
wont  to  tell  who  have  visited  remote  countries." 

"Discredit  not,  O  king,  the  tales  of  travellers,"  rejoined  the 
astrologer,  gravely,  "for  they  contain  precious  rarities  of  knowledge 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  275 

brought  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  As  to  the  palace  and  garden 
of  Irem,  what  is  generally  told  of  them  is  true;  I  have  seen  them 
with  mine  own  eyes; — listen  to  my  adventure,  for  it  has  a  bearing 
upon  the  object  of  your  request. 

"In  my  younger  days,  when  a  mere  Arab  of  the  desert,  I  tended 
my  father's  camels.  In  traversing  the  desert  of  Aden,  one  of  them 
strayed  from  the  rest,  and  was  lost.  I  searched  after  it  for  several 
days,  but  in  vain,  until,  wearied  and  faint,  I  laid  myself  down  at 
noontide,  and  slept  under  a  palm-tree  by  the  side  of  a  scanty  well. 
When  I  awoke  I  found  myself  at  the  gate  of  a  city.  I  entered, 
and  beheld  noble  streets,  and  squares,  and  market-places;  but  all 
were  silent  and  without  an  inhabitant.  I  wandered  on  until  I  came 
to  a  sumptuous  palace,  with  a  garden  adorned  with  fountains  and 
fish-ponds,  and  groves  and  flowers,  and  orchards  laden  with  delicious 
fruit;  but  still  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  Upon  which,  appalled  at  this 
loneliness,  I  hastened  to  depart;  and,  after  issuing  forth  at  the  gate 
of  the  city,  I  turned  to  look  upon  the  place,  but  it  was  no  longer  to 
be  seen;  nothing  but  the  silent  desert  extended  before  my  eyes. 

"In  the  neighborhood  I  met  with  an  aged  dervise,  learned  in  the 
traditions  and  secrets  of  the  land,  and  related  to  him  what  had  befallen 
me.  'This,'  said  he,  'is  the  far-famed  garden  of  Irem,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  desert.  It  only  appears  at  times  to  some  wanderer 
like  thyself,  gladdening  him  with  the  sight  of  towers  and  palaces 
and  garden-walls  overhung  with  richly-laden  fruit-trees,  and  then 
vanishes,  leaving  nothing  but  a  lonely  desert.  And  this  is  the 
story  of  it.  In  old  times,  when  this  country  was  inhabited  by  the 
Addites,  King  Sheddad,  the  son  of  Ad,  the  great-grandson  of  Noah, 
founded  here  a  splendid  city.  When  it  was  finished,  and  he  saw  its 
grandeur,  his  heart  was  puffed  up  with  pride  and  arrogance,  and  he 
determined  to  build  a  royal  palace,  with  gardens  which  should  rival 
all  related  in  the  Koran  of  the  celestial  paradise.  But  the  curse  of 
heaven  fell  upon  him  for  his  presumption.  He  and  his  subjects  were 
swept  from  the  earth,  and  his  splendid  city,  and  palace,  and  gardens, 
were  laid  under  a  perpetual  spell,  which  hides  them  from  human  sight, 
excepting  that  they  are  seen  at  intervals,  by  way  of  keeping  his  sin 
in  perpetual  remembrance.' 

"This  story,  O  king,  and  the  wonders  I  had  seen,  ever  dwelt  in 
my  mind;  and  in  after-years,  when  I  had  been  in  Egypt,  and  was 


276  AMERICAN  PROSE 


possessed  of  the  book  of  knowledge  of  Solomon  the  Wise,  I  deter- 
mined to  return  and  revisit  the  garden  of  Irem.  I  did  so,  and  found  it 
revealed  to  my  instructed  sight.  I  took  possession  of  the  palace  of 
Sheddad,  and  passed  several  days  in  his  mock  paradise.  The  genii 
who  watch  over  the  place  were  obedient  to  my  magic  power,  and 
revealed  to  me  the  spells  by  which  the  whole  garden  had  been,  as  it 
were,  conjured  into  existence,  and  by  which  it  was  rendered  invisible. 
Such  a  palace  and  garden,  O  king,  can  I  make  for  thee,  even  here,  on 
the  mountain  above  thy  city.  Do  I  not  know  all  the  secret  spells  ? 
and  am  I  not  in  possession  of  the  book  of  knowledge  of  Solomon  the 
Wise?" 

"0  wise  son  of  Abu  Ayub!"  exclaimed  Aben  Habuz,  trembling 
with  eagerness,  "thou  art  a  traveller  indeed,  and  hast  seen  and  learned 
marvellous  things!  Contrive  me  such  a  paradise,  and  ask  any  reward, 
even  to  the  half  of  my  kingdom." 

"Alas!"  replied  the  other,  "thou  knowest  I  am  an  old  man,  and 
a  philosopher,  and  easily  satisfied;  all  the  reward  I  ask  is  the*  first 
beast  of  burden,  with  its  load,  which  shall  enter  the  magic  portal  of 
the  palace." 

The  monarch  gladly  agreed  to  so  moderate  a  stipulation,  and  the 
astrologer  began  his  work.  On  the  summit  of  the  hill,  immediately 
above  his  subterranean  hermitage,  he  caused  a  great  gateway  or 
barbican  to  be  erected,  opening  through  the  centre  of  a  strong  tower. 

There  was  an  outer  vestibule  or  porch,  with  a  lofty  arch,  and 
within  it  a  portal  secured  by  massive  gates.  On  the  keystone  of 
the  portal  the  astrologer,  with  his  own  hand,  wrought  the  figure  of  a 
huge  key;  and  on  the  keystone  of  the  outer  arch  of  the  vestibule, 
which  was  loftier  than  that  of  the  portal,  he  carved  a  gigantic  hand. 
These  were  potent  talismans,  over  which  he  repeated  many  sentences 
in  an  unknown  tongue. 

When  this  gateway  was  finished,  he  shut  himself  up  for  two 
days  in  his  astrological  hall,  engaged  in  secret  incantations;  on 
the  third  he  ascended  the  hill,  and  passed  the  whole  day  on  its  sum- 
mit. At  a  late  hour  of  the  night  he  came  down,  and  presented  him- 
self before  Aben  Habuz.  "At  length,  O  king,"  said  he,  "my  labor  is 
accomplished.  On  the  summit  of  the  hill  stands  one  of  the  most 
delectable  palaces  that  ever  the  head  of  man  devised,  or  the  heart  of 
man  desired.  It  contains  sumptuous  halls  and  galleries,  delicious 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  277 

gardens,  cool  fountains,  and  fragrant  baths;  in  a  word,  the  whole 
mountain  is  converted  into  a  paradise.  Like  the  garden  of  Irem,  it 
is  protected  by  a  mighty  charm,  which  hides  it  from  the  view  and 
search  of  mortals,  excepting  such  as  possess  the  secret  of  its  talismans." 

"Enough!"  cried  Aben  Habuz,  joyfully,  "to-morrow  morning 
with  the  first  light  we  will  ascend  and  take  possession."  The  happy 
monarch  slept  but  little  that  night.  Scarcely  had  the  rays  of  the 
sun  begun  to  play  about  the  snowy  summit  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
when  he  mounted  his  steed,  and,  accompanied  only  by  a  few  chosen 
attendants,  ascended  a  steep  and  narrow  road  leading  up  the  hill. 
Beside  him,  on  a  white  palfrey,  rode  the  Gothic  princess,  her  whole 
dress  sparkling  with  jewels,  while  round  her  neck  was  suspended  her 
silver  lyre.  The  astrologer  walked  on  the  other  side  of  the  king, 
assisting  his  steps  with  his  hieroglyphic  staff,  for  he  never  mounted 
steed  of  any  kind. 

Aben  Habuz  looked  to  see  the  towers  of  the  palace  brightening 
above  him,  and  the  embowered  terraces  of  its  gardens  stretching 
along  the  heights;  but  as  yet  nothing  of  the  kind  was  to  be  descried. 
"That  is  the  mystery  and  safeguard  of  the  place,"  said  the  astrologer, 
"nothing  can  be  discerned  until  you  have  passed  the  spell-bound 
gateway,  and  been  put  in  possession  of  the  place." 

As  they  approached  the  gateway,  the  astrologer  paused,  and 
pointed  out  to  the  king  the  mystic  hand  and  key  carved  upon  the 
portal  of  the  arch.  "These,"  said  he,  "are  the  talismans  which 
guard  the  entrance  to  this  paradise.  Until  yonder  hand  shall  reach 
down  and  seize  that  key,  neither  mortal  power  nor  magic  artifice 
can  prevail  against  the  lord  of  this  mountain." 

While  Aben  Habuz  was  gazing,  with  open  mouth  and  silent  wonder, 
at  these  mystic  talismans,  the  palfrey  of  the  princess  proceeded, 
and  bore  her  in  at  the  portal,  to  the  very  centre  of  the  barbican. 

"Behold,"  cried  the  astrologer,  "my  promised  reward;  the  first 
animal  with  its  burden  which  should  enter  the  magic  gateway." 

Aben  Habuz  smiled  at  what  he  considered  a  pleasantry  of  the 
ancient  man;  but  when  he  found  him  to  be  in  earnest,  his  gray  beard 
trembled  with  indignation. 

"Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  said  he,  sternly,  "what  equivocation  is 
this?  Thou  knowest  the  meaning  of  my  promise:  the  first  beast 
of  burden,  with  its  load,  that  should  enter  this  portal.  Take  the 


278  AMERICAN  PROSE 


strongest  mule  in  my  stables,  load  it  with  the  most  precious  things 
of  my  treasury,  and  it  is  thine;  but  dare  not  raise  thy  thoughts  to  her 
who  is  the  delight  of  my  heart." 

"What  need  I  of  wealth?"  cried  the  astrologer,  scornfully; 
"have  I  not  the  book  of  knowledge  of  Solomon  the  Wise,  and  through 
it  the  command  of  the  secret  treasures  of  the  earth  ?  The  princess 
is  mine  by  right;  thy  royal  word  is  pledged;  I  claim  her  as  my  own." 

The  princess  looked  down  haughtily  from  her  palfrey,  and  a  light 
smile  of  scorn  curled  her  rosy  lip  at  this  dispute  between  two  gray- 
beards  for  the  possession  of  youth  and  beauty.  The  wrath  of  the 
monarch  got  the  better  of  his  discretion.  "Base  son  of  the  desert," 
cried  he,  "thou  mayst  be  master  of  many  arts,  but  know  me  for  thy 
master,  and  presume  not  to  juggle  with  thy  king." 

"My  master!  my  king!"  echoed  the  astrologer, — "the  monarch 
of  a  mole-hill  to  claim  sway  over  him  who  possesses  the  talismans  of 
Solomon!  Farewell,  Aben  Habuz;  reign  over  thy  petty  kingdom,  and 
revel  in  thy  paradise  of  fools;  fo:  me,  I  will  laugh  at  thee  in  my 
philosophic  retirement." 

So  saying,  he  seized  the  bridle  of  the  palfrey,  smote  the  earth  with 
his  staff,  and  sank  with  the  Gothic  princess  through  the  centre  of 
the  barbican.  The  earth  closed  over  them,  and  no  trace  remained 
of  the  opening  by  which  they  had  descended. 

Aben  Habuz  was  struck  dumb  for  a  time  with  astonishment. 
Recovering  himself,  he  ordered  a  thousand  workmen  to  dig,  with 
pickaxe  and  spade,  into  the  ground  where  the  astrologer  had  dis- 
appeared. They  digged  and  digged,  but  in  vain;  the  flinty  bosom 
of  the  hill  resisted  their  implements;  or  if  they  did  penetrate  a  little 
way,  the  earth  filled  in  again  as  fast  as  they  threw  it  out.  Aben 
Habuz  sought  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  leading 
to  the  subterranean  palace  of  the  astrologer;  but  it  was  nowhere  to 
be  found.  Where  once  had  been  an  entrance,  was  now  a  solid  surface 
of  primeval  rock.  With  the  disappearance  of  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu 
Ayub  ceased  the  benefit  of  his  talismans.  The  bronze  horseman 
remained  fixed,  with  his  face  turned  toward  the  hill,  and  his  spear 
pointed  to  the  spot  where  the  astrologer  had  descended,  as  if  there 
still  lurked  the  deadliest  foe  of  Aben  Habuz. 

From  time  to  time  the  sound  of  music,  and  the  tones  of  a  female 
voice,  could  be  faintly  heard  from  the  bosom  of  the  hill;  and  a  peasant 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  279 

one  day  brought  word  to  the  king,  that  "in  the  preceding  night  he  had 
found  a  fissure  in  the  rock,  by  which  he  had  crept  in,  until  he  looked 
down  into  a  subterranean  hall,  in  which  sat  the  astrologer,  on  a 
magnificent  divan,  slumbering  and  nodding  to  the  silver  lyre  of  the 
princess,  which  seemed  to  hold  a  magic  sway  over  his  senses. 

Aben  Habuz  sought  the  fissure  in  the  rock,  but  it  was  again 
closed.  He  renewed  the  attempt  to  unearth  his  rival,  but  all  in  vain. 
The  spell  of  the  hand  and  key  was  too  potent  to  be  counteracted 
by  human  power.  As  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  the  site  of  the 
promised  palace  and  garden,  it  remained  a  naked  waste;  either  the 
boasted  elysium  was  hidden  from  sight  by  enchantment,  or  was  a 
mere  fable  of  the  astrologer.  The  world  charitably  supposed  the 
latter,  and  some  used  to  call  the  place  "The  King's  Folly";  while 
others  named  it  "The  Fool's  Paradise." 

To  add  to  the  chagrin  of  Aben  Habuz,  the  neighbors  whom  he 
had  defied  and  taunted,  and  cut  up  at  his  leisure  while  master  of  the 
talismanic  horseman,  finding  him  no  longer  protected  by  magic 
spell,  made  inroads  into  his  territories  from  all  sides,  and  the  remainder 
of  the  life  of  the  most  pacific  of  monarchs  was  a  tissue  of  turmoils. 

At  length  Aben  Habuz  died,  and  was  buried.  Ages  have  since 
rolled  away.  The  Alhambra  has  been  built  on  the  eventful  moun- 
tain, and  in  some  measure  realizes  the  fabled  delights  of  the  garden 
of  Irem.  The  spell-bound  gateway  still  exists  entire,  protected  no 
doubt  by  the  mystic  hand  and  key,  and  now  forms  the  Gate  of  Justice, 
the  grand  entrance  to  the  fortress.  Under  that  gateway,  it  is  said,  the 
old  astrologer  remains  in  his  subterranean  hall,  nodding  on  his  divan, 
lulled  by  the  silver  lyre  of  the  princess. 

The  old  invalid  sentinels  who  mount  guard  at  the  gate  hear 
the  strains  occasionally  in  the  summer  nights;  and,  yielding  to  their 
soporific  power,  doze  quietly  at  their  posts.  Nay,  so  drowsy  an 
influence  pervades  the  place,  that  even  those  who  watch  by  day  may 
generally  be  seen  nodding  on  the  stone  benches  of  the  barbican,  or 
sleeping  under  the  neighboring  trees ;  so  that  in  fact  it  is  the  drowsiest 
military  post  in  all  Christendom.  All  this,  say  the  ancient  legends, 
will  endure  from  age  to  age.  The  princess  will  remain  captive  to  the 
astrologer;  and  the  astrologer,  bound  up  in  magic  slumber  by  the 
princess,  until  the  last  day,  unless  the  mystic  hand  shall  grasp  the 
fated  key,  and  dispel  the  whole  charm  of  this  enchanted  mountain. 


280  AMERICAN  PROSE 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 
A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM 

The  ways  of  God  in  Nature,  as  in  Providence,  are  not  as  our  ways;  nor 
are  the  models  that  we  frame  any  way  commensurate  to  the  vastness,  pro- 
fundity, and  unsearchableness  of  His  works,  which  have  a  depth  in  them 
greater  than  the  well  of  Democritus. 

Joseph  Glanville. 

We  had  now  reached  the  summit  of  the  loftiest  crag.  For  some 
minutes  the  old  man  seemed  too  much  exhausted  to  speak. 

"Not  long  ago,"  said  he  at  length,  "and  I  could  have  guided  you 
on  this  route  as  well  as  the  youngest  of  my  sons;  but,  about  three 
years  past,  there  happened  to  me  an  event  such  as  never  happened 
before  to  mortal  man — or  at  least  such  as  no  man  ever  survived  to  tell 
of — and  the  six  hours  of  deadly  terror  which  I  then  endured  have 
broken  me  up  body  and  soul.  You  suppose  me  a  very  old  man —  but 
I  am  not.  It  took  less  than  a  single  day  to  change  these  hairs  from  a 
a  jetty  black  to  white,  to  weaken  my  limbs,  and  to  unstring  my  nerves, 
so  that  I  tremble  at  the  least  exertion,  and  am  frightened  at  a  shadow. 
Do  you  know  I  can  scarcely  look  over  this  little  cliff  without  getting 
giddy  ?" 

The  "little  cliff,"  upon  whose  edge  he  had  so  carelessly  thrown 
himself  down  to  rest  that  the  weightier  portion  of  his  body  hung 
over  it,  while  he  was  only  kept  from  falling  by  the  tenure  of  his  elbow 
on  its  extreme  and  slippery  edge — this  "little  cliff"  arose,  a  sheer 
unobstructed  precipice  of  black  shining  rock,  some  fifteen  or  sixteen 
hundred  feet  from  the  world  of  crags  beneath  us.  Nothing  would 
have  tempted  me  to  within  half  a  dozen  yards  of  its  brink.  In  truth 
so  deeply  was  I  excited  by  the  perilous  position  of  my  companion, 
that  I  fell  at  full  length  upon  the  ground,  clung  to  the  shrubs  around 
me,  and  dared  not  even  glance  upward  at  the  sky — while  I  struggled 
in  vain  to  divest  myself  of  the  idea  that  the  very  foundations  of  the 
mountain  were  in  danger  from  the  fury  of  the  winds.  It  was  long 
before  I  could  reason  myself  into  sufficient  courage  to  sit  up  and  look 
out  into  the  distance. 

"You  must  get  over  these  fancies,"  said  the  guide,  "for  I  hare 
brought  you  here  that  you  might  have  the  best  possible  view  of  the 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  281 


scene  of  that  event  I  mentioned — and  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  with 
the  spot  just  under  your  eye." 

"We  are  now,"  he  continued,  in  that  particularizing  manner 
which  distinguished  him — "we  are  now  close  upon  the  Norwegian 
coast — in  the  sixty-eighth  degree  of  latitude — in  the  great  province  of 
Nordland — and  in  the  dreary  district  of  Lofoden.  The  mountain 
upon  whose  top  we  sit  is  Helseggen,  the  Cloudy.  Now  raise  your- 
self up  a  little  higher — hold  on  to  the  grass  if  you  feel  giddy — so — and 
look  out,  beyond  the  belt  of  vapor  beneath  us,  into  the  sea." 

I  looked  dizzily,  and  beheld  a  wide  expanse  of  ocean,  whose 
waters  wore  so  inky  a  hue  as  to  bring  at  once  to  my  mind  the  Nubian 
geographer's  account  of  the  Mare  Tenebrarum.  A  panorama  more 
deplorably  desolate  no  human  imagination  can  conceive.  To  the 
right  and  left,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  there  lay  outstretched,  like 
ramparts  of  the  world,  lines  of  horribly  black  and  beetling  cliff,  whose 
character  of  gloom  was  but  the  more  forcibly  illustrated  by  the  surf 
which  reared  high  up  against  it  its  white  and  ghastly  crest,  howling 
and  shrieking  for  ever.  Just  opposite  the  promontory  upon  whose 
apex  we  were  placed,  and  at  a  distance  of  some  five  or  six  miles  out 
at  sea,  there  was  visible  a  small,  bleak-looking  island;  or,  more 
properly,  its  position  was  discernible  through  the  wilderness  of  surge 
in  which  it  was  enveloped.  About  two  miles  nearer  the  land,  arose 
another  of  smaller  size,  hideously  craggy  and  barren,  and  encom- 
passed at  various  intervals  by  a  cluster  of  dark  rocks. 

The  appearance  of  the  ocean,  in  the  space  between  the  more 
distant  island  and  the  shore,  had  something  very  unusual  about  it. 
Although,  at  the  time,  so  strong  a  gale  was  blowing  landward  that  a 
brig  in  the  remote  offing  lay  to  under  a  double-reefed  trysail,  and  con- 
stantly plunged  her  whole  hull  out  of  sight,  still  there  was  here  nothing 
like  a  regular  swell,  but  only  a  short,  quick,  angry  cross  dashing  of 
water  in  every  direction — as  well  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind  as  otherwise. 
Of  foam  there  was  little  except  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  rocks. 

"The  island  in  the  distance,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "is  called 
by  the  Norwegians  Vurrgh.  The  one  midway  is  Moskoe.  That  a 
mile  to  the  northward  is  Ambaaren.  Yonder  are  Islesen,  Hotholm, 
Keildhelm,  Suarven,  and  Buckholm.  Farther  off — between  Moskoe 
and  Vurrgh — are  Otterholm,  Flimen,  Sandflesen,  and  Stockholm. 
These  are  the  true  names  of  the  places — but  why  it  has  been  thought 


282  AMERICAN  PROSE 


necessary  to  name  them  at  all,  is  more  than  either  you  or  I  can  under- 
stand. Do  you  hear  any  thing?  Do  you  see  any  change  in  the 
water?" 

We  had  now  been  about  ten  minutes  upon  the  top  of  Helseggen, 
to  which  we  had  ascended  from  the  interior  of  Lofoden,  so  that  we 
had  caught  no  glimpse  of  the  sea  until  it  had  burst  upon  us  from  the 
summit.  As  the  old  man  spoke,  I  became  aware  of  a  loud  and 
gradually  increasing  sound,  like  the  moaning  of  a  vast  herd  of  buffaloes 
upon  an  American  prairie;  and  at  the  same  moment  I  perceived  that 
what  seamen  term  the  chopping  character  of  the  ocean  beneath  us, 
was  rapidly  changing  into  a  current  which  set  to  the  eastward.  Even 
while  I  gazed,  this  current  acquired  a  monstrous  velocity.  Each 
moment  added  to  its  speed — to  its  headlong  impetuosity.  In  five 
minutes  the  whole  sea,  as  far  as  Vurrgh,  was  lashed  into  ungovernable 
fury;  but  it  was  between  Moskoe  and  the  coast  that  the  main  uproar 
held  its  sway.  Here  the  vast  bed  of  the  waters,  seamed  and  scarred 
into  a  thousand  conflicting  channels,  burst  suddenly  into  phrensied 
convulsion — heaving,  boiling,  hissing — gyrating  in  gigantic  and 
innumerable  vortices,  and  all  whirling  and  plunging  on  to  the  east- 
ward with  a  rapidity  which  water  never  elsewhere  assumes  except 
in  precipitous  descents. 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  there  came  over  the  scene  another  radical 
alteration.  The  general  surface  grew  somewhat  more  smooth,  and 
the  whirlpools,  one  by  one,  disappeared,  while  prodigious  streaks 
of  foam  became  apparent  where  none  had  been  seen  before.  These 
streaks,  at  length,  spreading  out  to  a  great  distance,  and  entering  into 
combination,  took  unto  themselves  the  gyratory  motion  of  the  sub- 
sided vortices,  and  seemed  to  form  the  germ  of  another  more  vast. 
Suddenly — very  suddenly — this  assumed  a  distinct  and  definite 
existence,  in  a  circle  of  more  than  a  mile  in  diameter.  The  edge  of 
the  whirl  was  represented  by  a  broad  belt  of  gleaming  spray;  but 
no  particle  of  this  slipped  into  the  mouth  of  the  terrific  funnel,  whose 
interior,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  fathom  it,  was  a  smooth,  shining,  and 
jet-black  wall  of  water,  inclined  to  the  horizon  at  an  angle  of  some 
forty-five  degrees,  speeding  dizzily  round  and  round  with  a  swaying 
and  sweltering  motion,  and  sending  forth  to  the  winds  an  appalling 
voice,  half  shriek,  half  roar,  such  as  not  even  the  mighty  cataract  of 
Niagara  ever  lifts  up  in  its  agony  to  heaven. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  283 


The  mountain  trembled  to  its  very  base,  and  the  rock  rocked. 
I  threw  myself  upon  my  face,  and  clung  to  the  scant  herbage  in  an 
excess  of  nervous  agitation. 

"This,"  said  I  at  length,  to  the  old  man — "this  can  be  nothing 
else  than  the  great  whirlpool  of  the  Maelstrom." 

"So  it  is  sometimes  termed,"  said  he.  "We  Norwegians  call 
it  the  Moskoe-strom,  from  the  island  of  Moskoe  in  the  midway." 

The  ordinary  accounts  of  this  vortex  had  by  no  means  prepared 
me  for  what  I  saw.  That  of  Jonas  Ramus,  which  is  perhaps  the  most 
circumstantial  of  any,  cannot  impart  the  faintest  conception  either 
of  the  magnificence,  or  of  the  horror  of  the  scene — or  of  the  wild 
bewildering  sense  of  the  novel  which  confounds  the  beholder.  I  am 
not  sure  from  what  point  of  view  the  writer  in  question  surveyed  it, 
nor  at  what  time;  but  it  could  neither  have  been  from  the  summit 
of  Helseggen,  nor  during  a  storm.  There  are  some  passages  of  his 
description,  nevertheless,  which  may  be  quoted  for  their  details, 
although  their  effect  is  exceedingly  feeble  in  conveying  an  impression 
of  the  spectacle. 

"Between  Lofoden  and  Moskoe,"  he  says,  "the  depth  of  the 
water  is  between  thirty-six  and  forty  fathoms;  but  on  the  other  side, 
toward  Ver  (Vurrgh)  this  depth  decreases  so  as  not  to  afford  a  con- 
venient passage  for  a  vessel,  without  the  risk  of  splitting  on  the  rocks, 
which  happens  even  in  the  calmest  weather.  When  it  is  flood,  the 
stream  runs  up  the  country  between  Lofoden  and  Moskoe  with  a 
boisterous  rapidity;  but  the  roar  of  its  impetuous  ebb  to  the  sea  is 
scarce  equalled  by  the  loudest  and  most  dreadful  cataracts;  the  noise 
being  heard  several  leagues  off,  and  the  vortices  or  pits  are  of  such  an 
extent  and  depth,  that  if  a  ship  comes  within  its  attraction,  it  is 
inevitably  absorbed  and  carried  down  to  the  bottom,  and  there  beat 
to  pieces  against  the  rocks;  and  when  the  water  relaxes,  the  fragments 
thereof  are  thrown  up  again.  But  these  intervals  of  tranquillity 
are  only  at  the  turn  of  the  ebb  and  flood,  and  in  calm  weather,  and 
last  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  its  violence  gradually  returning.  When 
the  stream  is  most  boisterous,  and  its  fury  heightened  by  a  storm, 
it  is  dangerous  to  come  within  a  Norway  mile  of  it.  Boats,  yachts, 
and  ships  have  been  carried  away  by  not  guarding  against  it  before 
they  were  within  its  reach.  It  likewise  happens  frequently,  that 
whales  come  too  near  the  stream,  and  are  overpowered  by  its  violence; 


284  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  then  it  is  impossible  to  describe  their  bowlings  and  bellowings 
in  their  fruitless  struggles  to  disengage  themselves.  A  bear  once, 
attempting  to  swim  from  Lofoden  to  Moskoe,  was  caught  by  the 
stream  and  borne  down,  while  he  roared  terribly,  so  as  to  be  heard 
on  shore.  Large  stocks  of  firs  and  pine  trees,  after  being  absorbed 
by  the  current,  rise  again  broken  and  torn  to  such  a  degree  as  if 
bristles  grew  upon  them.  This  plainly  shows  the  bottom  to  consist 
of  craggy  rocks,  among  which  they  are  whirled  to  and  fro.  This 
stream  is  regulated  by  the  flux  and  reflux  of  the  sea — it  being  con- 
stantly high  and  low  water  every  six  hours.  In  the  year  1645,  early 
in  the  morning  of  Sexagesima  Sunday,  it  raged  with  such  noise  and 
impetuosity  that  the  very  stones  of  the  houses  on  the  coast  fell  to  the 
ground." 

In  regard  to  the  depth  of  the  water,  I  could  not  see  how  this  could 
have  been  ascertained  at  all  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  vortex. 
The  "forty  fathoms"  must  have  reference  only  to  portions  of  the 
channel  close  upon  the  shore  either  of  Moskoe  or  Lofoden.  The 
depth  in  the  centre  of  the  Moskoe-strom  must  be  immeasurably 
greater;  and  no  better  proof  of  this  fact  is  necessary  than  can  be 
obtained  from  even  the  sidelong  -glance  into  the  abyss  of  the  whirl 
which  may  be  had  from  the  highest  crag  of  Helseggen.  Looking  down 
from  this  pinnacle  upon  the  howling  Phlegethon  below,  I  could  not 
help  smiling  at  the  simplicity  with  which  the  honest  Jonas  Ramus 
records,  as  a  matter  difficult  of  belief,  the  anecdotes  of  the  whales 
and  the  bears;  for  it  appeared  to  me,  in  fact,  a  self-evident  thing, 
that  the  largest  ship  of  the  line  in  existence,  coming  within  the 
influence  of  that  deadly  attraction,  could  resist  it  as  little  as  a  feather 
the  hurricane,  and  must  disappear  bodily  and  at  once. 

The  attempts  to  account  for  the  phenomenon — some  of  which, 
I  remember,  seemed  to  me  sufficiently  plausible  in  perusal — now 
wore  a  very  different  and  unsatisfactory  aspect.  The  idea  generally 
received  is  that  this,  as  well  as  three  smaller  vortices  among  the 
Ferroe  islands,  "have  no  other  cause  than  the  collision  of  waves 
rising  and  falh'ng,  at  flux  and  reflux,  against  a  ridge  of  rocks  and 
shelves,  which  confines  the  water  so  that  it  precipitates  itself  like  a 
cataract;  and  thus  the  higher  the  flood  rises,  the  deeper  must  the 
fall  be,  and  the  natural  result  of  all  is  a  whirlpool  or  vortex,  the  prodi- 
gious suction  of  which  is  sufficiently  known  by  lesser  experiments." — 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  285 

These  are  the  words  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.  Kircher  and 
others  imagine  that  in  the  centre  of  the  channel  of  the  Maelstrom  is 
an  abyss  penetrating  the  globe,  and  issuing  in  some  very  remote  part — 
the  Gulf  of  Bothnia  being  somewhat  decidedly  named  in  one  instance. 
This  opinion,  idle  in  itself,  was  the  one  to  which,  as  I  gazed, 
my  imagination  most  readily  assented;  and,  mentioning  it  to 
the  guide,  I  was  rather  surprised  to  hear  him  say  that,  although  it 
was  the  view  almost  universally  entertained  of  the  subject  by 
the  Norwegians,  it  nevertheless  was  not  his  own.  As  to  the  for- 
mer notion  he  confessed  his  inability  to  comprehend  it;  and  here 
I  agreed  with  him — for,  however  conclusive  on  paper,  it  becomes 
altogether  unintelligible,  and  even  absurd,  amid  the  thunder  of  the 
abyss. 

"You  have  had  a  good  look  at  the  whirl  now,"  said  the  old  man, 
"and  if  you  will  creep  round  this  crag,  so  as  to  get  in  its  lee,  and 
deaden  the  roar  of  the  water,  I  will  tell  you  a  story  that  will  convince 
you  I  ought  to  know  something  of  the  Moskoe-strom." 

I  placed  myself  as  desired,  and  he  proceeded. 

"Myself  and  my  two  brothers  once  owned  a  schooner-rigged 
smack  of  about  seventy  tons  burthen,  with  which  we  were  in  the  habit 
of  fishing  among  the  islands  beyond  Moskoe,  nearly  to  Vurrgh.  In 
all  violent  eddies  at  sea  there  is  good  fishing,  at  proper  opportunities, 
if  one  has  only  the  courage  to  attempt  it;  but  among  the  whole  of  the 
Lofoden  coastmen,  we  three  were  the  only  ones  who  made  a  regular 
business  of  going  out  to  the  islands,  as  I  tell  you.  The  usual  grounds 
are  a  great  way  lower  down  to  the  southward.  There  fish  can  be 
got  at  all  hours,  without  much  risk,  and  therefore  these  places  are 
preferred.  The  choice  spots  over  here  among  the  rocks,  however, 
not  only  yield  the  finest  variety,  but  in  far  greater  abundance;  so 
that  we  often  got  in  a  single  day,  what  the  more  timid  of  the  craft 
could  not  scrape  together  in  a  week.  In  fact,  we  made  it  a  matter 
of  desperate  speculation — the  risk  of  life  standing  instead  of  labor, 
and  courage  answering  for  capital. 

"We  kept  the  smack  in  a  cove  about  five  miles  higher  up  the 
coast  than  this;  and  it  was  our  practice,  in  fine  weather,  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  fifteen  minutes'  slack  to  push  across  the  main  channel 
of  the  Moskoe-strom,  far  above  the  pool,  and  then  drop  down  upon 
anchorage  somewhere  near  Otterholm,  or  Sandflesen,  where  the  eddies 


286  AMERICAN  PROSE 


arc  not  so  violent  as  elsewhere.  Here  we  used  to  remain  until  nearly 
time  for  slack-water  again,  when  we  weighed  and  made  for  home. 
We  never  set  out  upon  this  expedition  without  a  steady  side  wind  for 
going  and  coming — one  that  we  felt  sure  would  not  fail  us  before  our 
return — and  we  seldom  made  a  mis-calculation  upon  this  point. 
Twice,  during  six  years,  we,  were  forced  to  stay  all  night  at  anchor 
on  account  of  a  dead  calm,  which  is  a  rare  thing  indeed  just  about 
here;  and  once  we  had  to  remain  on  the  grounds  nearly  a  week, 
starving  to  death,  owing  to  a  gale  which  blew  up  shortly  after  our 
arrival,  and  made  the  channel  too  boisterous  to  be  thought  of.  Upon 
this  occasion  we  should  have  been  driven  out  to  sea  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, (for  the  whirlpools  threw  us  round  and  round  so  violently,  that, 
at  length,  we  fouled  our  anchor  and  dragged  it)  if  it  had  not  been 
that  we  drifted  into  one  of  the  innumerable  cross  currents — here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow — which  drove  us  under  the  lee  of  Flimen, 
where,  by  good  luck,  we  brought  up. 

"I  could  not  tell  you  the  twentieth  part  of  the  difficulties  we 
encountered  'on  the  ground' — it  is  a  bad  spot  to  be  in,  even  in  good 
weather — but  we  made  shift  always  to  run  the  gantlet  of  the  Moskoe- 
strom  itself  without  accident;  although  at  times  my  heart  has  been 
in  my  mouth  when  we  happened  to  be  a  minute  or  so  behind  or  before 
the  slack.  The  wind  sometimes  was  not  as  strong  as  we  thought  it 
at  starting,  and  then  we  made  rather  less  way  than  we  could  wish, 
while  the  current  rendered  the  smack  unmanageable.  My  eldest 
brother  had  a  son  eighteen  years  old,  and  I  had  two  stout  boys  of 
my  own.  These  would  have  been  of  great  assistance  at  such  times, 
in  using  the  sweeps,  as  well  as  afterward  in  fishing — but,  somehow, 
although  we  ran  the  risk  ourselves,  we  had  not  the  heart  to  let  the 
young  ones  get  into  the  danger — for,  after  all  is  said  and  done,  it  was 
a  horrible  danger,  and  that  is  the  truth. 

"It  is  now  within  a  few  days  of  three  years  since  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  occurred.  It  was  on  the  tenth  day  of  July,  18 — ,  a  day 
which  the  people  of  this  part  of  the  world  will  never  forget — fo  it 
was  one  in  which  blew  the  must  terrible  hurricane  that  ever  came  out 
of  the  heavens.  And  yet  all  the  morning,  and  indeed  until  late  in 
the  afternoon,  there  was  a  gentle  and  steady  breeze  from  the  south- 
west, while  the  sun  shone  brightly,  so  that  the  oldest  seaman  among  us 
could  not  have  foreseen  what  was  to  follow. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  287 


"The  three  of  us — my  two  brothers  and  myself — had  crossed  over 
to, the  islands  about  two  o'clock  P.M.,  and  had  soon  nearly  loaded 
the  smack  with  fine  fish,  which,  we  all  remarked,  were  more  plenty 
that  day  than  we  had  ever  known  them.  It  was  just  seven,  by  my 
watch,  when  we  weighed  and  started  for  home,  so  as  to  make  the  worst 
of  the  Strom  at  slack  water,  which  we  knew  would  be  at  eight. 

"We  set  out  with  a  fresh  wind  on  our  starboard  quarter,  and  for 
some  time  spanked  along  at  a  great  rate,  never  dreaming  of  danger, 
for  indeed  we  saw  not  the  slightest  reason  to  apprehend  it.  All 
at  once  we  were  taken  aback  by  a  breeze  from  over  Helseggen.  This 
was  most  unusual — something  that  had  never  happened  to  us  before — 
and  I  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy,  without  exactly  knowing  why. 
We  put  the  boat  on  the  wind,  but  could  make  no  headway  at  all  for 
the  eddies,  and  I  was  upon  the  point  of  proposing  to  return  to  the 
anchorage,  when,  looking  astern,  we  saw  the  whole  horizon  covered 
with  a  singular  copper-colored  cloud  that  rose  with  the  most  amazing 
velocity. 

"In  the  meantime  the  breeze  that  had  headed  us  off  fell  away, 
and  we  were  dead  becalmed,  drifting  about  in  every  direction.  This 
state  of  things,  however,  did  not  last  long  enough  to  give  us  time  to 
think  about  it.  In  less  than  a  minute  the  storm  was  upon  us — in 
less  than  two  the  sky  was  entirely  overcast — and  what  with  this  and 
the  driving  spray,  it  became  suddenly  so  dark  that  we  could  not  see 
each  other  in  the  smack. 

"Such  a  hurricane  as  then  blew  it  is  folly  to  attempt  describing. 
The  oldest  seaman  in  Norway  never  experienced  any  thing  like  it. 
We  had  let  our  sails  go  by  the  run  before  it  cleverly  took  us;  but,  at 
the  first  puff,  both  our  masts  went  by  the  board  as  if  they  had  been 
sawed  off — the  mainmast  taking  with  it  my  youngest  brother,  who 
had  lashed  himself  to  it  for  safety. 

"Our  boat  was  the  lightest  feather  of  a  thing  that  ever  sat  upon 
water.  It  had  a  complete  flush  deck,  with  only  a  small  hatch  near 
the  bow,  and  this  hatch  it  had  always  been  our  custom  to  batten 
down  when  about  to  cross  the  Strom,  by  way  of  precaution  against 
the  chopping  seas.  But  for  this  circumstance  we  should  have  found- 
ered at  once — for  we  lay  entirely  buried  for  some  moments.  How 
my  elder  brother  escaped  destruction  I  cannot  say,  for  I  never  had 
an  opportunity  of  ascertaining.  For  my  part,  as  soon  as  I  had  let 


288  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  foresail  run,  I  threw  myself  flat  on  deck,  with  my  feet  against  the 
narrow  gunwale  of  the  bow,  and  with  my  hands  grasping  a  ring-bolt 
near  the  foot  of  the  foremast.  It  was  mere  instinct  that  prompted 
me  to 'do  this — which  was  undoubtedly  the  very  best  thing  I  could 
have  done — for  I  was  too  much  flurried  to  think. 

"For  some  moments  we  were  completely  deluged,  as  I  say,  and 
all  this  time  I  held  my  breath,  and  clung  to  the  bolt.  When  I  could 
stand  it  no  longer  I  raised  myself  upon  my  knees,  still  keeping  hold 
with  my  hands,  and  thus  got  my  head  clear.  Presently  our  little 
boat  gave  herself  a  shake,  just  as  a  dog  does  in  coming  out  of  the 
water,  and  thus  rid  herself,  in  some  measure,  of  the  seas.  I  was  now 
trying  to  get  the  better  of  the  stupor  that  had  come  over  me,  and  to 
collect  my  senses  so  as  to  see  what  was  to  be  done,  when  I  felt  some- 
body grasp  my  arm.  It  was  my  elder  brother,  and  my  heart  leaped 
for  joy,  for  I  had  made  sure  that  he  was  overboard — but  the  next 
moment  all  this  joy  was  turned  into  horror — for  he  put  his  mouth 
close  to  my  ear,  and  screamed  out  the  word  'Moskoe-stroml' 

"No  one  ever  will  know  what  my  feelings  were  at  that  moment. 
I  shook  from  head  to  foot  as  if  I  had  had  the  must  violent  fit  of  the 
ague.  I  knew  what  he  meant  by  that  one  word  well  enough — I 
knew  what  he  wished  to  make  me  understand.  With  the  wind  that 
now  drove  us  on,  we  were  bound  for  the  whirl  of  the  Strom,  and  noth- 
ing could  save  us! 

"You  perceive  that  in  crossing  the  Strom  channel,  we  always 
went  a  long  way  up  above  the  whirl,  even  in  the  calmest  weather,  and 
then  had  to  wait  and  watch  carefully  for  the  slack;  but  now  we  were 
driving  right  upon  the  pool  itself,  and  in  such  a  hurricane  as  this! 
'To  be  sure,'  I  thought,  'we  shall  get  there  just  about  the  slack — 
there  is  some  little  hope  in  that' — but  in  the  next  moment  I  cursed 
myself  for  being  so  great  a  fool  as  to  dream  of  hope  at  all.  I  knew 
very  well  that  we  were  doomed,  had  we  been  ten  times  a  ninety-gun 
ship. 

"By  this  time  the  first  fury  of  the  tempest  had  spent  itself,  or 
perhaps  we  did  not  feel  it  so  much,  as  we  scudded  before  it,  but  at  all 
events  the  seas,  which  at  first  had  been  kept  down  by  the  wind,  and 
lay  flat  and  frothing,  now  got  up  into  absolute  mountains.  A  singu- 
lar change,  too,  had  come  over  the  heavens.  Around  in  every  direc- 
tion it  was  still  as  black  as  pitch,  but  nearly  overhead  there  burst 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  289 


out,  all  at  once,  a  circular  rift  of  clear  sky — as  clear  as  I  ever  saw — 
and  of  a  deep  bright  blue — and  through  it  there  blazed  forth  the  full 
moon  with  a  lustre  that  I  never  before  knew  her  to  wear.  She  lit 
up  every  thing  about  us  with  the  greatest  distinctness — but,  oh  God, 
what  a  scene  it  was  to  light  up! 

"I  now  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  speak  to  my  brother — but, 
in  some  manner  which  I  could  not  understand,  the  din  had  so  in- 
creased that  I  could  not  make  him  hear  a  single  word,  although  I 
screamed  at  the  top  of  my  voice  in  his  ear.  Presently  he  shook  his 
head,  looking  as  pale  as  death,  and  held  up  one  of  his  fingers,  as  if 
to  say  'listen!' 

"At  first  I  could  not  make  out  what  he  meant — but  soon  a  hide- 
ous thought  flashed  upon  me.  I  dragged  my  watch  from  its  fob.  It 
was  not  going.  I  glanced  at  its  face  by  the  moonlight,  and  then 
burst  into  tears  as  I  flung  it  far  away  into  the  ocean.  //  had  run 
down  at  seven  o'clock!  We  were  behind  the  time  of  the  slack,  and  the 
whirl  of  the  Strom  was  in  full  fury! 

"When  a  boat  is  well  built,  properly  trimmed,  and  not  deep 
laden,  the  waves  in  a  strong  gale,  when  she  is  going  large,  seem  always 
to  slip  from  beneath  her — which  appears  very  strange  to  a  landsman — 
and  this  is  what  is  called  riding,  in  sea  phrase. 

"Well,  so  far  we  had  ridden  the  swells  very  cleverly ;  but  presently 
a  gigantic  sea  happened  to  take  us  right  under  the  counter,  and  bore 
us  with  it  as  it  rose — up — up — as  if  into  the  sky.  I  would  not  have 
believed  that  any  wave  could  rise  so  high.  And  then  down  we  came 
with  a  sweep,  a  slide,  and  a  plunge,  that  made  me  feel  sick  and  dizzy, 
as  if  I  was  falling  from  some  lofty  mountain-top  in  a  dream.  But 
while  we  were  up  I  had  thrown  a  quick  glance  around — and  that 
one  glance  was  all  sufficient.  I  saw  our  exact  position  in  an  instant. 
The  Moskoe-strom  whirlpool  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dead 
ahead — but  no  more  like  the  every-day  Moskoe-strom  than  the  whirl 
as  you  now  see  it  is  like  a  mill-race.  If  I  had  not  known  where  we 
were,  and  what  we  had  to  expect,  I  should  not  have  recognised  the 
place  at  all.  As  it  was,  I  involuntarily  closed  my  eyes  in  horror. 
The  lids  clenched  themselves  together  as  if  in  a  spasm. 

"It  could  not  have  been  more  than  two  minutes  afterward  until 
we  suddenly  felt  the  waves  subside,  and  were  enveloped  in  foam. 
The  boat  made  a  sharp  half  turn  to  larboard,  and  then  shot  off  in 


2go  AMERICAN  PROSE 


its  new  direction  like  a  thunderbolt.  At  the  same  moment  the  roar- 
ing noise  of  the  water  was  completely  drowned  in  a  kind  of  shrill 
shriek — such  a  sound  as  you  might  imagine  given  out  by  the  waste- 
pipes  of  many  thousand  steam-vessels,  letting  off  their  steam  all 
together.  We  were  now  in  the  belt  of  surf  that  always  surrounds  the 
whirl;  and  I  thought,  of  course,  that  another  moment  would  plunge 
us  into  the  abyss — down  which  we  could  only  see  indistinctly  on 
account  of  the  amazing  velocity  with  which  we  were  borne  along. 
The  boat  did  not  seem  to  sink  into  the  water  at  all,  but  to  skim  like 
an  air-bubble  upon  the  surface  of  the  surge.  Her  starboard  side 
was  next  the  whirl,  and  on  the  larboard  arose  the  world  of  ocean 
we  had  left.  It  stood  like  a  huge  writhing  wall  between  us  and  the 
horizon. 

"It  may  appear  strange,  but  now,  when  we  were  in  the  very  jaws 
of  the  gulf,  I  felt  more  composed  than  when  we  were  only  approaching 
it.  Having  made  up  my  mind  to  hope  no  more,  I  got  rid  of  a  great 
deal  of  that  terror  which  unmanned  me  at  first.  I  suppose  it  was 
despair  that  strung  my  nerves. 

"It  may  look  like  boasting — but  what  I  tell  you  is  truth — I  began 
to  reflect  how  magnificent  a  thing  it  was  to  die  in  such  a  manner,  and 
how  foolish  it  was  hi  me  to  think  of  so  paltry  a  consideration  as  my 
own  individual  life,  in  view  of  so  wonderful  a  manifestation  of  God's 
power.  I  do  believe  that  I  blushed  with  shame  when  this  idea  crossed 
my  mind.  After  a  little  while  I  became  possessed  with  the  keenest 
curiosity  about  the  whirl  itself.  I  positively  felt  a  wish  to  explore  its 
depths,  even  at  the  sacrifice  I  was  going  to  make;  and  my  principal 
grief  was  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  tell  my  old  companions  on 
shore  about  the  mysteries  I  should  see.  These,  no  doubt,  were 
singular  fancies  to  occupy  a  man's  mind  in  such  extremity — and  I 
have  often  thought  since,  that  the  revolutions  of  the  boat  around  the 
pool  might  have  rendered  me  a  little  light-headed. 

"There  was  another  circumstance  which  tended  to  restore  my 
self-possession;  and  this  was  the  cessation  of  the  wind,  which  could 
not  reach  us  in  our  present  situation — for,  as  you  saw  yourself,  the 
belt  of  surf  is  considerably  lower  than  the  general  bed  of  the  ocean, 
and  this  latter  now  towered  above  us,  a  high,  black,  mountainous 
ridge.  If  you  have  never  been  at  sea  in  a  heavy  gale,  you  can  form 
no  idea  of  the  confusion  of  mind  occasioned  by  the  wind  and  spray 


EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE  291 


together.  They  blind,  deafen,  and  strangle  you,  and  take  away  all 
power  of  action  or  reflection.  But  we  were  now,  in  a  great  measure, 
rid  of  these  annoyances — just  as  death-condemned  felons  in  prison 
are  allowed  petty  indulgences,  forbidden  them  while  their  doom  is 
yet  uncertain. 

"How  often  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  belt  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  We  careered  round  and  round  for  perhaps  an  hour,  flying  rather 
than  floating,  getting  gradually  more  and  more  into  the  middle  of 
the  surge,  and  then  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  horrible  inner  edge.  All 
this  time  I  had  never  let  go  of  the  ring-bolt.  My  brother  was  at 
the  stern,  holding  on  to  a  small  empty  water-cask  which  had  been 
securely  lashed  under  the  coop  of  the  counter,  and  was  the  only  thing 
on  deck  that  had  not  been  swept  overboard  when  the  gale  first  took  us. 
As  we  approached  the  brink  of  the  pit  he  let  go  his  hold  upon  this, 
and  made  for  the  ring,  from  which,  in  the  agony  of  his  terror,  he 
endeavored  to  force  my  hands,  as  it  was  not  large  enough  to  afford 
us  both  a  secure  grasp.  I  never  felt  deeper  grief  than  when  I  saw  him 
attempt  this  act — although  I  knew  he  was  a  madman  when  he  did 
it — a  raving  maniac  through  sheer  fright.  I  did  not  care,  however,  to 
contest  the  point  with  him.  I  knew  it  could  make  no  difference 
whether  either  of  us  held  on  at  all;  so  I  let  him  have  the  bolt,  and 
went  astern  to  the  cask.  This  there  was  no  great  difficulty  in  doing; 
for  the  smack  flew  round  steadily  enough,  and  upon  an  even  keel — 
only  swaying  to  and  fro,  with  the  immense  sweeps  and  swelters  of  the 
whirl.  Scarcely  had  I  secured  myself  in  my  new  position,  when  we 
gave  a  wild  lurch  to  starboard,  and  rushed  headlong  into  the  abyss. 
I  muttered  a  hurried  prayer  to  God,  and  thought  all  was  over. 

"As  I  felt  the  sickening  sweep  of  the  descent,  I  had  instinctively 
tightened  my  hold  upon  the  barrel,  and  closed  my  eyes.  For  some 
seconds  I  dared  not  open  them — while  I  expected  instant  destruction, 
and  wondered  that  I  was  not  already  in  my  death-struggles  with  the 
water.  But  moment  after  moment  elapsed.  I  still  lived.  The 
sense  of  falling  had  ceased ;  and  the  motion  of  the  vessel  seemed  much 
as  it  had  been  before,  while  in  the  belt  of  foam,  with  the  exception 
that  she  now  lay  more  along.  I  took  courage  and  looked  once  again 
upon  the  scene. 

"Never  shall  I  forget  the  sensations  of  awe,  horror,  and  admira- 
tion with  which  I  gazed  about  me.  The  boat  appeared  to  be  hanging, 


292  AMERICAN  PROSE 


as  if  by  magic,  midway  down,  upon  the  interior  surface  of  a  funnel 
vast  in  circumference,  prodigious  in  depth,  and  whose  perfectly 
smooth  sides  might  have  been  mistaken  for  ebony,  but  for  the  bewild- 
ering rapidity  with  which  they  spun  around,  and  for  the  gleaming 
and  ghastly  radiance  they  shot  forth,  as  the  rays  of  the  full  moon, 
from  that  circular  rift  amid  the  clouds  which  I  have  already  described, 
streamed  in  a  flood  of  golden  glory  along  the  black  walls,  and  far 
away  down  into  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  abyss. 

"At  first  I  was  too  much  confused  to  observe  anything  accurately. 
The  general  burst  of  terrific  grandeur  was  all  that  I  beheld.  When 
I  recovered  myself  a  little,  however,  my  gaze  fell  instinctively  down- 
ward. In  this  direction  I  was  able  to  obtain  an  unobstructed  view, 
from  the  manner  in  which  the  smack  hung  on  the  inclined  surface 
of  the  pool.  She  was  quite  upon  an  even  keel — that  is  to  say,  her 
deck  lay  in  a  plane  parallel  with  that  of  the  water — but  this  latter 
sloped  at  an  angle  of  more  than  forty-five  degrees,  so  that  we  seemed 
to  be  lying  upon  our  beam-ends.  I  could  not  help  observing,  never- 
theless, that  I  had  scarcely  more  difficulty  in  maintaining  my  hold 
and  footing  in  this  situation,  than  if  we  had  been  upon  a  dead  level ; 
and  this,  I  suppose,  was  owing  to  the  speed  at  which  we  revolved. 

"The  rays  of  the  moon  seemed  to  search  the  very  bottom  of 
the  profound  gulf;  but  still  I  could  make  out  nothing  distinctly, 
on  account  of  a  thick  mist  in  which  everything  there  was  enveloped, 
and  over  which  there  hung  a  magnificent  rainbow,  like  that  narrow 
and  tottering  bridge  which  Mussulmen  say  is  the  only  pathway  be- 
tween Time  and  Eternity.  This  mist,  or  spray,  was  no  doubt  occa- 
sioned by  the  clashing  of  the  great  walls  of  the  funnel,  as  they  all 
met  together  at  the  bottom — but  the  yell  that  went  up  to  the  Heavens 
from  out  of  that  mist,  I  dare  not  attempt  to  describe. 

"Our  first  slide  into  the  abyss  itself,  from  the  belt  of  foam  above, 
had  carried  us  a  great  distance  down  the  slope;  but  our  farther  descent 
was  by  no  means  proportionate.  Round  and  round  we  swept — 
not  with  any  uniform  movement — but  in  dizzying  swings  and  jerks, 
that  sent  us  sometimes  only  a  few  hundred  yards — sometimes  nearly 
the  complete  circuit  of  the  whirl.  Our  progress  downward,  at  each 
revolution,  was  slow,  but  very  perceptible. 

"Looking  about  me  upon  the  wide  waste  of  liquid  ebony  on  which 
we  were  thus  borne,  I  perceived  that  our  boat  was  not  the  only  object 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  293 


in  the  embrace  of  the  whirl.  Both  above  and  below  us  were  visible 
fragments  of  vessels,  large  masses  of  building  timber  and  trunks  of 
trees,  with  many  smaller  articles,  such  as  pieces  of  house  furniture, 
broken  boxes,  barrels  and  staves.  I  have  already  described  the 
unnatural  curiosity  which  had  taken  the  place  of  my  original  terrors. 
It  appeared  to  grow  upon  me  as  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  my 
dreadful  doom.  I  now  began  to  watch,  with  a  strange  interest,  the 
numerous  things  that  floated  in  our  company.  I  must  have  been 
delirious — for  I  even  sought  amusement  in  speculating  upon  the 
relative  velocities  of  their  several  descents  toward  the  foam  below. 
'This  fir  tree,'  I  found  myself  at  one  time  saying,  'will  certainly  be 
the  next  thing  that  takes  the  awful  plunge  and  disappears,' — and 
then  I  was  disappointed  to  find  that  the  wreck  of  a  Dutch  merchant 
ship  overtook  it  and  went  down  before.  At  length,  after  making 
several  guesses  of  this  nature,  and  being  deceived  hi  all — this  fact — 
the  fact  of  my  invariable  miscalculation,  set  me  upon  a  train  of  reflec- 
tion that  made  my  limbs  again  tremble,  and  my  heart  beat  heavily 
once  more. 

"It  was  not  a  new  terror  that  thus  affected  me,  but  the  dawn  of  a 
more  exciting  hope.  This  hope  arose  partly  from  memory,  and  partly 
from  present  observation.  I  called  to'  mind  the  great  variety  of 
buoyant  matter  that  strewed  the  coast  of  Lofoden,  having  been 
absorbed  and  then  thrown  forth  by  the  Moskoe-strom.  By  far  the 
greater  number  of  the  articles  were  shattered  in  the  most  extraor- 
dinary way — so  chafed  and  roughened  as  to  have  the  appearance 
of  being  stuck  full  of  splinters — but  then  I  distinctly  recollected  that 
there  were  some  of  them  which  were  not  disfigured  at  all.  Now  I 
could  not  account  for  this  difference  except  by  supposing  that  the 
roughened  fragments  were  the  only  ones  which  had  been  completely 
absorbed — that  the  others  had  entered  the  whirl  at  so  late  a  period 
of  the  tide,  or,  from  some  reason,  had  descended  so  slowly  after  enter- 
ing, that  they  did  not  reach  the  bottom  before  the  turn  of  the  flood 
came,  or  of  the  ebb,  as  the  case  might  be.  I  conceived  it  possible, 
in  either  instance,  that  they  might  be  thus  whirled  up  again  to  the 
level  of  the  ocean,  without  undergoing  the  fate  of  those  which  had 
been  drawn  in  more  early,  or  absorbed  more  rapidly.  I  made,  also, 
three  important  observations.  The  first  was,  that,  as  a  general  rule, 
the  larger  the  bodies  were,  the  more  rapid  their  descent — the  second, 


294  AMERICAN  PROSE 


that,  between  two  masses  of  equal  extent,  the  one  spherical,  and  the 
other  of  any  other  shape,  the  superiority  in  speed  of  descent  was  with 
the  sphere — the  third,  that,  between  two  masses  of  equal  size,  the  one 
cylindrical,  and  the  other  of  any  other  shape,  the  cylinder  was  ab- 
sorbed the  more  slowly.  Since  my  escape,  I  have  had  several  con- 
versations on  this  subject  with  an  old  school-master  of  the  district; 
and  it  was  from  him  that  I  learned  the  use  of  the  words  'cylinder' 
and  'sphere.'  He  explained  to  me — although  I  have  forgotten  the 
explanation — how  what  I  observed  was,  in  fact,  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  the  forms  of  the  floating  fragments — and  showed  me  how 
it  happened  that  a  cylinder,  swimming  hi  a  vortex,  offered  more 
resistance  to  its  suction,  and  was  drawn  in  with  greater  difficulty  than 
an  equally  bulky  body,  of  any  form  whatever. 

"There  was  one  startling  circumstance  which  went  a  great  way 
in  enforcing  these  observations,  and  rendering  me  anxious  to  turn 
them  to  account,  and  this  was  that,  at  every  revolution,  we  passed 
something  like  a  barrel,  or  else  the  yard  or  the  mast  of  a  vessel,  while 
many  of  these  things,  which  had  been  on  our  level  when  I  first  opened 
my  eyes  upon  the  wonders  of  the  whirlpool,  were  now  high  up  above 
us,  and  seemed  to  have  moved  but  little  from  their  original  station. 

"I  no  longer  hesitated  what  to  do.  I  resolved  to  lash  myself 
securely  to  the  water  cask  upon  which  I  now  held,  to  cut  it  loose  from 
the  counter,  and  to  throw  myself  with  it  into  the  water.  I  attracted 
my  brother's  attention  by  signs,  pointed  to  the  floating  barrels  that 
came  near  us,  and  did  everything  in  my  power  to  make  him  under- 
stand what  I  was  about  to  do.  I  thought  at  length  that  he  compre- 
hended my  design — but,  whether  this  was  the  case  or  not,  he  shook 
his  head  despairingly,  and  refused  to  move  from  his  station  by  the 
ring-bolt.  It  was  impossible  to  reach  him;  the  emergency  admitted 
no  delay;  and  so,  with  a  bitter  struggle,  I  resigned  him  to  his  fate, 
fastened  myself  to  the  cask  by  means  of  the  lashings  which  secured 
it  to  the  counter,  and  precipitated  myself  with  it  into  the  sea,  without 
another  moment's  hesitation. 

"The  result  was  precisely  what  I  had  hoped  it  might  be.  As 
it  is  myself  who  now  tell  you  this  tale — as  you  see  that  I  did  escape — 
and  as  you  are  already  in  possession  of  the  mode  in  which  this  escape 
was  effected,  and  must  therefore  anticipate  all  that  I  have  farther 
to  say — I  will  bring  my  story  quickly  to  conclusion.  It  might  have 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  295 

been  an  hour,  or  thereabout,  after  my  quitting  the  smack,  when, 
having  descended  to  a  vast  distance  beneath  me,  it  made  three  or 
four  wild  gyrations  in  rapid  succession,  and,  bearing  my  loved  brother 
with  it,  plunged  headlong,  at  once  and  forever,  into  the  chaos  of 
foam  below.  The  barrel  to  which  I  was  attached  sunk  very  little 
farther  than  half  the  distance  between  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  and 
the  spot  at  which  I  leaped  overboard,  before  a  great  change  took  place 
in  the  character  of  the  whirlpool.  The  slope  of  the  sides  of  the  vast 
funnel  became  momently  less  and  less  steep.  The  gyrations  of  the 
whirl  grew,  gradually,  less  and  less  violent.  By  degrees,  the  froth 
and  the  rainbow  disappeared,  and  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  seemed 
slowly  to  uprise.  The  sky  was  clear,  the  winds  had  gone  down, 
and  the  full  moon  was  setting  radiantly  in  the  west,  when  I  found 
myself  on  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  in  full  view  of  the  shores  of 
Lofoden,  and  above  the  spot  where  the  pool  of  the  Moskoe-strom 
had  been.  It  was  the  hour  of  the  slack — but  the  sea  still  heaved  in 
mountainous  waves  from  the  effects  of  the  hurricane.  I  was  borne 
violently  into  the  channel  of  the  Strom,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was 
hurried  down  the  coast  into  the  'grounds'  of  the  fishermen.  A  boat 
picked  me  up — exhausted  from  fatigue — and  (now  that  the  danger 
was  removed)  speechless  from  the  memory  of  its  horror.  Those  who 
drew  me  on  board  were  my  old  mates  and  daily  companions — but 
they  knew  me  no  more  than  they  would  have  known  a  traveller  from 
the  spirit-land.  My  hair  which  had  been  raven-black  the  day  before, 
was  as  white  as  you  see  it  now.  They  say  too  that  the  whole  expres- 
sion of  my  countenance  had  changed.  I  told  them  my  story — they 
did  not  believe  it.  I  now  tell  it  to  you — and  I  can  scarcely  expect 
you  to  put  more  faith  in  it  than  did  the  merry  fishermen  of  Lofoden." 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER 

"Son  cceur  est  un  luth  suspendu; 
Sitot  qu'on  le  touche  il  resonne." 

— De  Blranger. 

During  the  whole  of  a  dull,  dark,  and  soundless  day  in  the  autumn 
of  the  year,  when  the  clouds  hung  oppressively  low  in  the  heavens,  I 
had  been  passing  alone,  on  horseback,  through  a  singularly  dreary 
tract  of  country;  and  at  length  found  myself,  as  the  shades  of  the 


296  AMERICAN  PROSE 


evening  drew  on,  within  view  of  the  melancholy  House  of  Usher. 
I  know  not  how  it  was — but,  with  the  first  glimpse  of  the  building,  a 
sense  of  insufferable  gloom  pervaded  my  spirit.  I  say  insufferable; 
for  the  feeling  was  unrelieved  by  any  of  that  half-pleasurable,  because 
poetic,  sentiment,  with  which  the  mind  usually  receives  even  the 
sternest  natural  images  of  the  desolate  or  terrible.  I  looked  upon 
the  scene  before  me — upon  the  mere  house,  and  the  simple  landscape 
features  of  the  domain — upon  the  bleak  walls — upon  the  vacant  eye- 
like  windows — upon  a  few  rank  sedges — and  upon  a  few  white  trunks 
of  decayed  trees — with  an  utter  depression  of  soul  which  I  can  compare 
to  no  earthly  sensation  more  properly  than  to  the  after-dream  of 
the  reveller  upon  opium — the  bitter  lapse  into  every-day  life — the 
hideous  dropping  off  of  the  veil.  There  was  an  iciness,  a  sinking,  a 
sickening  of  the  heart — an  unredeemed  dreariness  of  thought  which 
no  goading  of  the  imagination  could  torture  into  aught  of  the  sub- 
lime. What  was  it — I  paused  to  think — what  was  it  that  so  unnerved 
me  in  the  contemplation  of  the  House  of  Usher  ?  It  was  a  mystery  all 
insoluble;  nor  could  I  grapple  with  the  shadowy  fancies  that  crowded 
upon  me  as  I  pondered.  I  was  forced  to  fall  back  upon  the  unsatis- 
factory conclusion,  that  while,  beyond  doubt,  there  are  combinations 
of  very  simple  natural  objects  which  have  the  power  of  thus  affecting 
us,  still  the  analysis  of  this  power  lies  among  considerations  beyond 
our  depth.  It  was  possible,  I  reflected,  that  a  mere  different  arrange- 
ment of  the  particulars  of  the  scene,  of  the  details  of  the  picture,  would 
be  sufficient  to  modify,  or  perhaps  to  annihilate  its  capacity  for  sorrow- 
ful impression;  and,  acting  upon  this  idea,  I  reined  my  horse  to  the 
precipitous  brink  of  a  black  and  lurid  tarn  that  lay  in  unruffled  lustre 
by  the  dwelling,  and  gazed  down — but  with  a  shudder  even  more 
thrilling  than  before — upon  the  remodelled  and  inverted  images  of 
the  gray  sedge,  and  the  ghastly  tree-stems,  and  the  vacant  and  eye- 
like  windows. 

Nevertheless,  in  this  mansion  of  gloom  I  now  proposed  to  myself 
a  sojourn  of  some  weeks.  Its  proprietor,  Roderick  Usher,  had  been 
one  of  my  boon  companions  in  boyhood;  but  many  years  had  elapsed 
since  our  last  meeting.  A  letter,  however,  had  lately  reached  me  in 
a  distant  part  of  the  country — a  letter  from  him — which,  in  its  wildly 
importunate  nature,  had  admitted  of  no  other  than  a  personal  reply. 
The  MS.  gave  evidence  of  nervous  agitation.  The  writer  spoke  of 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  297 


acute  bodily  illness — of  a  mental  disorder  which  oppressed  him — and 
of  an  earnest  desire  to  see  me,  as  his  best,  and  indeed  his  only  personal 
friend,  with  a  view  of  attempting,  by  the  cheerfulness  of  my  society, 
some  alleviation  of  his  malady.  It  was  the  manner  in  which  all  this, 
and  much  more,  was  said — it  was  the  apparent  heart  that  went  with  his 
request — which  allowed  me  no  room  for  hesitation;  and  I  accordingly 
obeyed  forthwith  what  I  still  considered  a  very  singular  summons. 

Although,  as  boys,  we  had  been  even  intimate  associates,  yet 
I  really  knew  little  of  my  friend.  His  reserve  had  been  always  exces- 
sive and  habitual.  I  was  aware,  however,  that  his  very  ancient 
family  had  been  noted,  time  out  of  mind,  for  a  peculiar  sensibility 
of  temperament,  displaying  itself,  through  long  ages,  in  many  works  of 
exalted  art,  and  manifested,  of  late,  in  repeated  deeds  of  munificent 
yet  unobtrusive  charity,  as  well  as  hi  a  passionate  devotion  to  the 
intricacies,  perhaps  even  more  than  to  the  orthodox  and  easily  recog- 
nisable beauties,  of  musical  science.  I  had  learned,  too,  the  very 
remarkable  fact,  that  the  stem  of  the  Usher  race,  all  time-honored 
as  it  was,  had  put  forth,  at  no  period,  any  enduring  branch;  in  other 
words,  that  the  entire  family  lay  in  the  direct  line  of  descent,  and  had 
always,  with  very  trifling  and  very  temporary  variation,  so  lain. 
It  was  this  deficiency,  I  considered,  while  running  over  in  thought  the 
perfect  keeping  of  the  character  of  the  premises  with  the  accredited 
character  of  the  people,  and  while  speculating  upon  the  possible 
influence  which  the  one,  in  the  long  lapse  of  centuries,  might  have 
exercised  upon  the  other — it  was  this  deficiency,  perhaps,  of  collateral 
issue,  and  the  consequent  undeviating  transmission,  from  sire  to 
son,  of  the  patrimony  with  the  name,  which  had,  at  length,  so  identi- 
fied the  two  as  to  merge  the  original  title  of  the  estate  in  the  quaint 
and  equivocal  appellation  of  the  "House  of  Usher" — an  appellation 
which  seemed  to  include,  hi  the  minds  of  the  peasantry  who  used  it, 
both  the  family  and  the  family  mansion. 

I  have  said  that  the  sole  effect  of  my  somewhat  childish  experi- 
ment— that  of  looking  down  within  the  tarn — had  been  to  deepen  the 
first  singular  impression.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  rapid  increase  of  my  superstition — for  why  should  I  not 
so  term  it? — served  mainly  to  accelerate  the  increase  itself.  Such, 
I  have  long  known,  is  the  paradoxical  law  of  all  sentiments  having 
terror  as  a  basis.  And  it  might  have  been  for  this  reason  only,  that, 


298  AMERICAN  PROSE 


when  I  again  uplifted  my  eyes  to  the  house  itself,  from  its  image  in 
the  pool,  there  grew  in  my  mind  a  strange  fancy — a  fancy  so  ridiculous, 
indeed,  that  I  but  mention  it  to  show  the  vivid  force  of  the  sensations 
which  oppressed  me.  I  had  so  worked  upon  my  imagination  as  really 
to  believe  that  about  the  whole  mansion  and  domain  there  hung  an 
atmosphere  peculiar  to  themselves  and  their  immediate  vicinity — 
an  atmosphere  which  had  no  affinity  with  the  air  of  heaven,  but  which 
had  reeked  up  from  the  decayed  trees,  and  the  gray  wall,  and  the 
silent  tarn — a  pestilent  and  mystic  vapor,  dull,  sluggish,  faintly 
discernible,  and  leaden-hued.  Shaking  off  from  my  spirit  what  must 
have  been  a  dream,  I  scanned  more  narrowly  the  real  aspect  of  the 
building.  Its  principal  feature  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  excessive 
antiquity.  The  discoloration  of  ages  had  been  great.  Minute  fungi 
overspread  the  whole  exterior,  hanging  in  a  fine  tangled  web-work 
from  the  eaves.  Yet  all  this  was  apart  from  any  extraordinary  dilapi- 
dation. No  portion  of  the  masonry  had  fallen;  and  there  appeared 
to  be  a  wild  inconsistency  between  its  still  perfect  adaptation  of  parts, 
and  the  crumbling  condition  of  the  individual  stones.  In  this  there 
was  much  that  reminded  me  of  the  specious  totality  of  old  wood- 
work which  has  rotted  for  long  years  in  some  neglected  vault,  with 
no  disturbance  from  the  breath  of  the  external  air.  Beyond  this 
indication  of  extensive  decay,  however,  the  fabric  gave  little  token 
of  instability.  Perhaps  the  eye  of  a  scrutinizing  observer  might  have 
discovered  a  barely  perceptible  fissure,  which,  extending  from  the 
roof  of  the  building  in  front,  made  its  way  down  the  wall  in  a  zigzag 
direction,  until  it  became  lost  in  the  sullen  waters  of  the  tarn. 

Noticing  these  things,  I  rode  over  a  short  causeway  to  the  house. 
A  servant  in  waiting  took  my  horse,  and  I  entered  the  Gothic  arch- 
way of  the  hall.  A  valet,  of  stealthy  step,  thence  conducted  me,  in 
silence,  through  many  dark  and  intricate  passages  in  my  progress  to 
the  studio  of  his  master.  Much  that  I  encountered  on  the  way  con- 
tributed, I  know  not  how,  to  heighten  the  vague  sentiments  of  which 
I  have  already  spoken.  While  the  objects  around  me — while  the 
carvings  of  the  ceilings,  the  sombre  tapestries  of  the  walls,  the  ebon 
blackness  of  the  floors,  and  the  phantasmagoric  armorial  trophies 
which  rattled  as  I  strode,  were  but  matters  to  which,  or  to  such  as 
which,  I  had  been  accustomed  from  my  infancy — while  I  hesitated 
not  to  acknowledge  how  familiar  was  all  this — I  still  wondered  to 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  299 


find  how  unfamiliar  were  the  fancies  which  ordinary  images  were 
stirring  up.  On  one  of  the  staircases,  I  met  the  physician  of  the 
family.  His  countenance,  I  thought,  wore  a  mingled  expression  of 
low  cunning  and  perplexity.  He  accosted  me  with  trepidation  and 
passed  on.  The  valet  now  threw  open  a  door  and  ushered  me  into 
the  presence  of  his  master. 

The  room  in  which  I  found  myself  was  very  large  and  lofty.  The 
windows  were  long,  narrow,  and  pointed,  and  at  so  vast  a  distance 
from  the  black  oaken  floor  as  to  be  altogether  inaccessible  from  within. 
Feeble  gleams  of  encrimsoned  light  made  their  way  through  the  trel- 
lissed  panes,  and  served  to  render  sufficiently  distinct  the  more 
prominent  objects  around;  the  eye,  however,  struggled  in  vain  to 
reach  the  remoter  angles  of  the  chamber,  or  the  recesses  of  the  vaulted 
and  fretted  ceiling.  Dark  draperies  hung  upon  the  walls.  The  gen- 
eral furniture  was  profuse,  comfortless,  antique,  and  tattered.  Many 
books  and  musical  instruments  lay  scattered  about,  but  failed  to  give 
any  vitality  to  the  scene.  I  felt  that  I  breathed  an  atmosphere  of 
sorrow.  An  air  of  stern,  deep,  and  irredeemable  gloom  hung  over 
and  pervaded  all. 

Upon  my  entrance,  Usher  arose  from  a  sofa  on  which  he  had  been 
lying  at  full  length,  and  greeted  me  with  a  vivacious  warmth  which 
had  much  in  it,  I  at  first  thought,  of  an  overdone  cordiality — of  the 
constrained  effort  of  the  ennuyS  man  of  the  world.  A  glance,  however, 
.at  his  countenance,  convinced  me  of  his  perfect  sincerity.  We  sat 
down;  and  for  some  moments,  while  he  spoke  not,  I  gazed  upon  him 
with  a  feeling  half  of  pity,  half  of  awe.  Surely,  man  had  never  before 
so  terribly  altered,  in  so  brief  a  period,  as  had  Roderick  Usher!  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  I  could  bring  myself  to  admit  the  identity 
of  the  wan  being  before  me  with  the  companion  of  my  early  boyhood. 
Yet  the  character  of  his  face  had  been  at  all  times  remarkable.  A 
cadaverousness  of  complexion;  an  eye  large,  liquid,  and  luminous 
beyond  comparison;  lips  somewhat  thin  and  very  pallid,  but  of  a 
surpassingly  beautiful  curve;  a  nose  of  a  delicate  Hebrew  model, 
but  with  a  breadth  of  nostril  unusual  in  similar  formations;  a  finely 
moulded  chin,  speaking,  in  its  want  of  prominence,  of  a  want  of  moral 
energy;  hair  of  a  more  than  web-like  softness  and  tenuity;  these 
features,  with  an  inordinate  expansion  above  the  regions  of  the  temple, 
made  up  altogether  a  countenance  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  And 


300  AMERICAN  PROSE 


now  in  the  mere  exaggeration  of  the  prevailing  character  of  these 
features,  and  of  the  expression  they  were  wont  to  convey,  lay  so  much 
of  change  that  I  doubted  to  whom  I  spoke.  The  now  ghastly  pallor 
of  the  skin,  and  the  now  miraculous  lustre  of  the  eye,  above  all  things 
startled  and  even  awed  me.  The  silken  hair,  too,  had  been  suffered 
to  grow  all  unheeded,  and  as,  in  its  wild  gossamer  texture,  it  floated 
rather  than  fell  about  the  face,  I  could  not,  even  with  effort,  connect 
its  Arabesque  expression  with  any  idea  of  simple  humanity. 

In  the  manner  of  my  friend  I  was  at  once  struck  with  an  inco- 
herence— an  inconsistency;  and  I  soon  found  this  to  arise  from  a 
series  of  feeble  and  futile  struggles  to  overcome  an  habitual  trepidancy 
— an  excessive  nervous  agitation.  For  something  of  this  nature  I  had 
indeed  been  prepared,  no  less  by  his  letter,  than  by  reminiscences  of 
certain  boyish  traits,  and  by  conclusions  deduced  from  his  peculiar 
physical  conformation  and  temperament.  His  action  was  alternately 
vivacious  and  sullen.  His  voice  varied  rapidly  from  a  tremulous 
indecison  (when  the  animal  spirits  seemed  utterly  in  abeyance)  to 
that  species  of  energetic  concision — that  abrupt,  weighty,  unhurried, 
and  hollow-sounding  enunciation — that  leaden,  self-balanced  and 
perfectly  modulated  guttural  utterance,  which  may  be  observed  in  the 
lost  drunkard,  or  the  irreclaimable  eater  of  opium,  during  the  periods 
of  his  most  intense  excitement. 

It  was  thus  that  he  spoke  of  the  object  of  my  visit,  of  his  earnest 
desire  to  see  me,  and  of  the  solace  he  expected  me  to  afford  him. 
He  entered,  at  some  length,  into  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  nature  of 
his  malady.  It  was,  he  said,  a  constitutional  and  a  family  evil,  and 
one  for  which  he  despaired  to  find  a  remedy — a  mere  nervous  affec- 
tion, he  immediately  added,  which  would  undoubtedly  soon  pass  off. 
It  displayed  itself  in  a  host  of  unnatural  sensations.  Some  of  these, 
as  he  detailed  them,  interested  and  bewildered  me;  although,  per- 
haps, the  terms,  and  the  general  manner  of  the  narration  had  their 
weight.  He  suffered  much  from  a  morbid  acuteness  of  the  senses; 
the  most  insipid  food  was  alone  endurable;  he  could  wear  only  gar- 
ments of  certain  texture;  the  odors  of  all  flowers  were  oppressive; 
his  eyes  were  tortured  by  even  a  faint  light;  and  there  were  but 
peculiar  sounds,  and  these  from  stringed  instruments,  which  did  not 
inspire  him  with  horror. 

To  an  anomalous  species  of  terror  I  found  him  a  bounden  slave. 
"I  shall  perish,"  said  he,  "I  must  perish  in  this  deplorable  folly. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  301 


Thus,  thus,  and  not  otherwise,  shall  I  be  lost.  I  dread  the  events 
of  the  future,  not  in  themselves,  but  in  their  results.  I  shudder  at 
the  thought  of  any,  even  the  most  trivial,  incident,  which  may  operate 
upon  this  intolerable  agitation  of  soul.  I  have,  indeed,  no  abhorrence 
of  danger,  except  in  its  absolute  effect — hi  terror.  In  this  unnerved — 
in  this  pitiable  condition — I  feel  that  the  period  will  sooner  or  later 
arrive  when  J  must  abandon  life  and  reason  together,  hi  some  struggle 
with  the  grim  phantasm,  FEAR." 

I  learned,  moreover,  at  intervals,  and  through  broken  and 
equivocal  hints,  another  singular  feature  of  his  mental  condition. 
He  was  enchained  by  certain  superstitious  impressions  in  regard  to 
the  dwelling  which  he  tenanted,  and  whence,  for  many  years,  he  had 
never  ventured  forth — in  regard  to  an  influence  whose  supposititious 
force  was  conveyed  in  terms  too  shadowy  here  to  be  re-stated — an 
influence  which  some  peculiarities  hi  the  mere  form  and  substance 
of  his  family  mansion,  had,  by  dint  of  long  sufferance,  he  said,  ob- 
tained over  his  spirit — an  effect  which  the  physique  of  the  gray  walls 
and  turrets,  and  of  the  dim  tarn  into  which  they  all  looked  down,  had, 
at  length,  brought  about  upon  the  morale  of  his  existence. 

He  admitted,  however,  although  with  hesitation,  that  much 
of  the  peculiar  gloom  which  thus  afflicted  him.  could  be  traced  to 
a  more  natural  and  far  more  palpable  origin — to  the  severe  and  long- 
continued  illness — indeed  to  the  evidently  approaching  dissolution — 
of  a  tenderly  beloved  sister — his  sole  companion  for  long  years — his 
last  and  only  relative  on  earth.  "  Her  decease,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter- 
ness which  I  can  never  forget,  "would  leave  him  (him  the  hopeless 
and  the  frail)  the  last  of  the  ancient  race  of  the  Ushers."  While  he 
spoke,  the  lady  Madeline  (for  so  was  she  called)  passed  slowly  through 
a  remote  portion  of  the  apartment,  and,  without  having  noticed  my 
presence,  disappeared.  I  regarded  her  with  an  utter  astonishment 
not  unmingled  with  dread — and  yet  I  found  it  impossible  to  account 
for  such  feelings.  A  sensation  of  stupor  oppressed  me,  as  my  eyes 
followed  her  retreating  steps.  When  a  door,  at  length,  closed  upon 
her,  my  glance  sought  instinctively  and  eagerly  the  countenance  of 
the  brother — but  he  had  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  I  could 
only  perceive  that  a  far  more  than  ordinary  wanness  had  overspread 
the  emaciated  fingers  through  which  trickled  many  passionate  tears. 

The  disease  of  the  lady  Madeline  had  long  baffled  the  skill  of 
her  physicians.  A  settled  apathy,  a  gradual  wasting  away  of  the 


302  AMERICAN  PROSE 


person,  and  frequent  although  transient  affections  of  a  partially  cata- 
leptical  character,  were  the  usual  diagnosis.  Hitherto  she  had 
steadily  borne  up  against  the  pressure  of  her  malady,  and  had  not 
betaken  herself  finally  to  bed;  but,  on  the  closing  in  of  the  evening  of 
my  arrival  at  the  house,  she  succumbed  (as  her  brother  told  me  at 
night  with  inexpressible  agitation)  to  the  prostrating  power  of  the 
destroyer;  and  I  learned  that  the  glimpse  I  had  obtained  of  her 
person  would  thus  probably  be  the  last  I  should  obtain — that  the 
lady,  at  least  while  living,  would  be  seen  by  me  no  more. 

For  several  days  ensuing,  her  name  was  unmentioned  by  either 
Usher  or  myself:  and  during  this  period  I  was  busied  in  earnest 
endeavors  to  alleviate  the  melancholy  of  my  friend.  We  painted  and 
read  together;  or  I  listened,  as  if  in  a  dream,  to  the  wild  improvisations 
of  his  speaking  guitar.  And  thus,  as  a  closer  and  still  closer  intimacy 
admitted  me  more  unreservedly  into  the  recesses  of  his  spirit,  the 
more  bitterly  did  I  perceive  the  futility  of  all  attempt  at  cheering  a 
mind  from  which  darkness,  as  if  an  inherent- positive  quality,  poured 
forth  upon  all  objects  of  the  moral  and  physical  universe,  in  one 
unceasing  radiation  of  gloom. 

I  shall  ever  bear  about  me  a  memory  of  the  many  solemn  hours 
I  thus  spent  alone  with  the  master  of  the  House  of  Usher.  Yet  I 
should  fail  hi  any  attempt  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  exact  character  of 
the  studies,  or  of  the  occupations,  in  which  he  involved  me,  or  led 
me  the  way.  An  excited  and  highly  distempered  ideality  threw  a 
sulphureous  lustre  over  all.  His  long  improvised  dirges  will  ring 
forever  in  my  ears.  Among  other  things,  I  hold  painfully  in  mind  a 
certain  singular  perversion  and  amplification  of  the  wild  air  of  the  last 
waltz  of  Von  Weber.  From  the  paintings  over  which  his  elaborate 
fancy  brooded,  and  which  grew,  touch  by  touch,  into  vaguenesses 
at  which  I  shuddered  the  more  thrillingly,  because  I  shuddered  know- 
ing not  why; — from  these  paintings  (vivid  as  their  images  now  are 
before  me)  I  would  in  vain  endeavor  to  educe  more  than  a  small  por- 
tion which  should  lie  within  the  compass  of  merely  written  words. 
By  the  utter  simplicity,  by  the  nakedness  of  his  designs,  he  arrested 
and  overawed  attention.  If  ever  mortal  painted  an  idea,  that  mortal 
was  Roderick  Usher.  For  me  at  least — in  the  circumstances  then 
surrounding  me — there  arose  out  of  the  pure  abstractions  which 
the  hypochondriac  contrived  to  throw  upon  his  canvass,  an  inten- 
sity of  intolerable  awe,  no  shadow  of  which  felt  I  ever  yet  in  the 


EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE  303 


contemplation  of  the  certainly  glowing  yet  too  concrete  reveries  of 
Fuseli. 

One  of  the  phantasmagoric  conceptions  of  my  friend,  partaking 
not  so  rigidly  of  the  spirit  of  abstraction,  may  be  shadowed  forth, 
although  feebly,  in  words.  A  small  picture  presented  the  interior 
of  an  immensely  long  and  rectangular  vault  or  tunnel,  with  low  walls, 
smooth,  white,  and  without  interruption  or  device.  Certain  acces- 
sory points  of  the  design  served  well  to  convey  the  idea  that  this  exca- 
vation lay  at  an  exceeding  depth  below  the  surface  of  the  earth.  No 
outlet  was  observed  in  any  portion  of  its  vast  extent,  and  no  torch, 
or  other  artificial  source  of  light  was  discernible;  yet  a  flood  of  intense 
rays  rolled  throughout,  and  bathed  the  whole  in  a  ghastly  and  inappro- 
priate splendor. 

I  have  just  spoken  of  that  morbid  condition  of  the  auditory 
nerve  which  rendered  all  music  intolerable  to  the  sufferer,  with  the 
exception  of  certain  effects  of  stringed  instruments.  It  was,  perhaps, 
the  narrow  limits  to  which  he  thus  confined  himself  upon  the  guitar, 
which  gave  birth,  in  great  measure,  to  the  fantastic  character  of  his 
performances.  But  the  fervid  facility  of  his  impromptus  could  not 
be  so  accounted  for.  They  must  have  been,  and  were,  in  the  notes, 
as  well  as  in  the  words  of  his  wild  fantasias  (for  he  not  unfrequently 
accompanied  himself  with  rhymed  verbal  improvisations),  the  result 
of  that  intense  mental  collectedness  and  concentration  to  which  I 
have  previously  alluded  as  observable  only  in  particular  moments 
of  the  highest  artificial  excitement.  The  words  of  one  of  these 
rhapsodies  I  have  easily  remembered.  I  was,  perhaps,  the  more 
forcibly  impressed  with  it,  as  he  gave  it,  because,  in  the  under  or 
mystic  current  of  its  meaning,  I  fancied  that  I  perceived,  and  for  the 
first  time,  a  full  consciousness  on  the  part  of  Usher,  of  the  tottering  of 
his  lofty  reason  upon  her  throne.  The  verses,  which  were  entitled 
"The  Haunted  Palace,"  ran  very  nearly,  if  not  accurately,  thus: 

I. 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys, 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace — 

Radiant  palace — reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion — 

It  stood  there! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair. 


304  AMERICAN  PROSE 


II. 

Banners  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 

On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow; 
(This — all  this — was  in  the  olden 

Time  long  ago) 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

III. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically 

To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law, 
Round  about  a  throne,  where  sitting 

(Porphyrogene!) 
In  state  his  glory  well  befitting, 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 

IV. 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

Was  the  fair  palace  door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flowing, 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  Echoes  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing, 
In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

V. 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate; 
(Ah,  let  *us  mourn,  for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him,  desolate!) 
And,  round  about  his  home,  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  305 


VI. 

And  travellers  now  within  that  valley, 

Through  the  red-litten  windows,  see 
Vast  forms  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody; 
While,  like  a  rapid  ghastly  river, 

Through  the  pale  door, 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  forever, 

And  laugh — but  smile  no  more. 

I  well  remember  that  suggestions  arising  from  this  ballad,  led 
us  into  a  train  of  thought  wherein  there  became  manifest  an  opinion 
of  Usher's  which  I  mention  not  so  much  on  account  of  its  novelty, 
(for  other  men  have  thought  thus)  as  on  account  of  the  pertinacity 
with  which  he  maintained  it.  This  opinion,  in  its  general  form,  was 
that  of  the  sentience  of  all  vegetable  things.  But,  in  his  disordered 
fancy,  the  idea  had  assumed  a  more  daring  character,  and  trespassed, 
under  certain  conditions,  upon  the  kingdom  of  inorganization.  I 
lack  words  to  express  the  full  extent,  or  the  earnest  abandon  of  his 
persuasion.  The  belief,  however,  was  connected  (as  I  have  previously 
hinted)  with  the  gray  stones  of  the  home  of  his  forefathers.  The 
conditions  of  the  sentience  had  been  here,  he  imagined,  fulfilled  in 
the  method  of  collocation  of  these  stones — in  the  order  of  then- 
arrangement,  as  well  as  in  that  of  the  many  fungi  which  overspread 
them,  and  of  the  decayed  trees  which  stood  around — above  all,  in  the 
long  undisturbed  endurance  of  this  arrangement,  and  hi  its  reduplica- 
tion in  the  still  waters  of  the  tarn.  Its  evidence — the  evidence  of  the 
sentience — was  to  be  seen,  he  said,  (and  I  here  started  as  he  spoke,)  hi 
the  gradual  yet  certain  condensation  of  an  atmosphere  of  their  own 
about  the  waters  and  the  walls.  The  result  was  discoverable,  he 
added,  hi  that  silent,  yet  importunate  and  terrible  influence  which 
for  centuries  had  moulded  the  destinies  of  his  family,  and  which  made 
him  what  I  now  saw  him — what  he  was.  Such  opinions  need  no 
comment,  and  I  will  make  none. 

Our  books — the  books  which,  for  years,  had  formed  no  small 
portion  of  the  mental  existence  of  the  invalid — were,  as  might  be 
supposed,  in  strict  keeping  with  this  character  of  phantasm.  We 
pored  together  over  such  works  as  the  Ververt  et  Chartreuse  of 
Cresset;  the  Belphegor  of  Machiavelli;  the  Heaven  and  Hell  of 


306  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Swedenborg;  the  Subterranean  Voyage  of  Nicholas  Klimm  by 
Holberg;  the  Chiromancy  of  Robert  Flud,  of  Jean  D'Indagine,  and 
of  De  la  Chambre;  the  Journey  into  the  Blue  Distance  of  Tieck; 
and  the  City  of  the  Sun  of  Campanella.  One  favorite  volume  was  a 
small  octavo  edition  of  the  Directorium  Inquisitorium,  by  the  Domini- 
can Eymeric  de  Gironne;  and  there  were  passages  in  Pomponius 
Mela,  about  the  old  African  Satyrs  and  CEgipans,  over  which  Usher 
would  sit  dreaming  for  hours.  His  chief  delight,  however,  was  found 
in  the  perusal  of  an  exceedingly  rare  and  curious  book  in  quarto 
Gothic — the  manual  of  a  forgotten  church — the  Vigiliae  Mortuorum 
secuiidum  Chorum  Ecclesiae  Maguntinae. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  wild  ritual  of  this  work,  and  of 
its  probable  influence  upon  the  hypochondriac,  when,  one  evening, 
having  informed  me  abruptly  that  the  lady  Madeline  was  no  more, 
he  stated  his  intention  of  preserving  her  corpse  for  a  fortnight, 
(previously  to  its  final  interment,)  hi  one  of  the  numerous  vaults 
within  the  main  walls  of  the  building.  The  worldly  reason,  however, 
assigned  for  this  singular  proceeding,  was  one  which  I  did  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  dispute.  The  brother  had  been  led  to  his  resolution 
(so  he  told  me)  by  consideration  of  the  unusual  character  of  the 
malady  of  the  deceased,  of  certain  obtrusive  and  eager  inquiries  on 
the  part  of  her  medical  men,  and  of  the  remote  and  exposed  situation 
of  the  burial-ground  of  the  family.  I  will  not  deny  that  when  I 
called  to  mind  the  sinister  countenance  of  the  person  whom  I  met 
upon  the  staircase,  on  the  day  of  my  arrival  at  the  house,  I  had  no 
desire  to  oppose  what  I  regarded  as  at  best  but  a  harmless,  and  by  no 
means  an  unnatural,  precaution. 

At  the  request  of  Usher,  I  personally  aided  him  in  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  temporary  entombment.  The  body  having  been  en- 
coffined,  we  two  alone  bore  it  to  its  rest.  The  vault  hi  which  we 
placed  it  (and  which  had  been  so  long  unopened  that  our  torches, 
half  smothered  in  its  oppressive  atmosphere,  gave  us  little  opportunity 
for  investigation)  was  small,  damp,  and  entirely  without  means  of 
admission  for  light;  lying,  at  great  depth,  immediately  beneath  that 
portion  of  the  building  in  which  was  my  own  sleeping  apartment. 
It  had  been  used,  apparently,  in  remote  feudal  times,  for  the  worst 
purposes  of  a  donjon-keep,  and,  in  later  days,  as  a  place  of  deposit 
for  powder,  or  some  other  highly  .combustible  substance,  as  a  portion 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  307 


of  its  floor,  and  the  whole  interior  of  a  long  archway  through  which 
we  reached  it,  were  carefully  sheathed  with  copper.  The  door,  of 
massive  iron,  had  been,  also,  similarly  protected.  Its  immense  weight 
caused  an  unusually  sharp  grating  sound,  as  it  moved  upon  its  bulges. 

Having  deposited  our  mournful  burden  upon  tressels  within 
this  region  of  horror,  we  partially  turned  aside  the  yet  unscrewed  lid 
of  the  coffin,  and  looked  upon  the  face  of  the  tenant.  A  striking 
similitude  between  the  brother  and  sister  now  first  arrested  my  atten- 
tion; and  Usher,  divining,  perhaps,  my  thoughts,  murmured  out 
some  few  words  from  which  I  learned  that  the  deceased  and  himself 
had  been  twins,  and  that  sympathies  of  a  scarcely  intelligible  nature 
had  always  existed  between  them.  Our  glances,  however,  rested  not 
long  upon  the  dead — for  we  could  not  regard  her  unawed.  The 
disease  which  had  thus  entombed  the  lady  in  the  maturity  of  youth, 
had  left,  as  usual  in  all  maladies  of  a  strictly  cataleptical  character, 
the  mockery  of  a  fault  blush  upon  the  bosom  and  the  face,  and  that 
suspiciously  lingering  smile  upon  the  lip  which  is  so  terrible  in  death. 
We  replaced  and  screwed  down  the  lid,  and,  having  secured  the  door 
of  iron,  made  our  way,  with  toil,  into  the  scarcely  less  gloomy  apart- 
ments of  the  upper  portion  of  the  house. 

And  now,  some  days  of  bitter  grief  having  elapsed,  an  observable 
change  came  over  the  features  of  the  mental  disorder  of  my  friend. 
His  ordinary  manner  had  vanished.  His  ordinary  occupations  were 
neglected  or  forgotten.  He  roamed  from  chamber  to  chamber  with 
hurried,  unequal,  and  objectless  step.  The  pallor  of  his  countenance 
had  assumed,  if  possible,  a  more  ghastly  hue — but  the  luminousness 
of  his  eye  had  utterly  gone  out.  The  once  occasional  huskiness  of  his 
tone  was  heard  no  more;  and  a  tremulous  quaver,  as  if  of  extreme 
terror,  habitually  characterized  his  utterance.  There  were  times, 
indeed,  when  I  thought  his  unceasingly  agitated  mind  was  laboring 
with  some  oppressive  secret,  to  divulge  which  he  struggled  for  the 
necessary  courage.  At  tunes,  again,  I  was  obliged  to  resolve  all  into 
the  mere  inexplicable  vagaries  of  madness,  for  I  beheld  him  gazing 
upon  vacancy  for  long  hours,  in  an  attitude  of  the  profoundest  atten- 
tion, as  if  listening  to  some  imaginary  sound.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
his  condition  terrified — that  it  infected  me.  I  felt  creeping  upon  me, 
by  slow  yet  certain  degrees,  the  wild  influences  of  his  own  fantastic 
yet  impressive  superstitions. 


308  AMERICAN  PROSE 


It  was,  especially,  upon  retiring  to  bed  late  in  the  night  of  the 
seventh  or  eighth  day  after  the  placing  the  lady  Madeline  within  the 
donjon,  that  I  experienced  the  full  power  of  such  feelings.  Sleep 
came  not  near  my  couch — while  the  hours  waned  and  waned  away. 
I  struggled  to  reason  off  the  nervousness  which  had  dominion  over 
me.  I  endeavored  to  believe  that  much,  if  not  all  of  what  I  felt,  was 
due  to  the  bewildering  influence  of  the  gloomy  furniture  of  the  room — 
of  the  dark  and  tattered  draperies,  which,  tortured  into  motion  by 
the  breath  of  a  rising  tempest,  swayed  fitfully  to  and  fro  upon  the 
walls,  and  rustled  uneasily  about  the  decorations  of  the  bed.  But 
my  efforts  were  fruitless.  An  irrepressible  tremor  gradually  pervaded 
my  frame;  and,  at  length,  there  sat  upon  my  very  heart  an  incubus  of 
utterly  causeless  alarm.  Shaking  this  off  with  a  gasp  and  a  struggle, 
I  uplifted  myself  upon  the  pillows,  and,  peering  earnestly  within 
the  intense  darkness  of  the  chamber,  barkened — I  know  not  why, 
except  that  an  instinctive  spirit  prompted  me — to  certain  low  and 
indefinite  sounds  which  came,  through  the  pauses  of  the  storm,  at  long 
intervals,  I  knew  not  whence.  Overpowered  by  an  intense  sentiment 
of  horror,  unaccountable  yet  unendurable,  I  threw  on  my  clothes  with 
haste  (for  I  felt  that  I  should  sleep  no  more  during  the  night),  and 
endeavored  to  arouse  myself  from  the  pitiable  condition  into  which 
I  had  fallen,  by  pacing  rapidly  to  and  fro  through  the  apartment. 

I  had  taken  but  few  turns  in  this  manner,  when  a  light  step  on  an 
adjoining  staircase  arrested  my  attention.  I  presently  recognized 
it  as  that  of  Usher.  In  an  instant  afterward  he  rapped,  with  a  gentle 
touch,  at  my  door,  and  entered,  bearing  a  lamp.  His  countenance 
was,  as  usual,  cadaverously  wan — but,  moreover,  there  was  a  species 
of  mad  hilarity  in  his  eyes — an  evidently  restrained  hysteria  in  his 
whole  demeanor.  His  air  appalled  me — but  anything  was  preferable 
to  the  solitude  which  I  had  so  long  endured,  and  I  even  welcomed  his 
presence  as  a  relief. 

"And  you  have  not  seen  it  ?  "  he  said  abruptly,  after  having  stared 
about  him  for  some  moments  in  silence — "you  have  not  then  seen 
it? — but,  stay!  you  shall."  Thus  speaking,  and  having  carefully 
shaded  his  lamp,  he  hurried  to  one  of  the  casements,  and  threw  it 
freely  open  to  the  storm. 

The  impetuous  fury  of  the  entering  gust  nearly  lifted  us  from  our 
feet.  It  was,  indeed,  a  tempestuous  yet  sternly  beautiful  night,  and 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  309 


one  wildly  singular  in  its  terror  and  its  beauty.  A  whirlwind  had 
apparently  collected  its  force  in  our  vicinity;  for  there  were  frequent 
and  violent  alterations  in  the  direction  of  the  wind;  and  the  exceeding 
density  of  the  clouds  (which  hung  so  low  as  to  press  upon  the  turrets 
of  the  house)  did  not  prevent  our  perceiving  the  life-like  velocity 
with  which  they  flew  careering  from  all  points  against  each  other, 
without  passing  away  into  the  distance.  I  say  that  even  their 
exceeding  density  did  not  prevent  our  perceiving  this — yet  we  had  no 
glimpse  of  the  moon  or  stars — nor  was  there  any  flashing  forth  of 
the  lightning.  But  the  under  surfaces  of  the  huge  masses  of  agitated 
vapor,  as  well  as  all  terrestrial  objects  immediately  around  us,  were 
glowing  hi  the  unnatural  light  of  a  faintly  luminous  and  distinctly 
visible  gaseous  exhalation  which  hung  about  and  enshrouded  the 
mansion. 

"You  must  not,  you  shall  not  behold  this!"  said  I,  shudderingly, 
to  Usher,  as  I  led  him,  with  a  gentle  violence,  from  the  window  to  a 
seat.  "These  appearances,  which  bewilder  you,  are  merely  electrical 
phenomena  not  uncommon — or  it  may  be  that  they  have  their  ghastly 
origin  hi  the  rank  miasma  of  the  tarn.  Let  us  close  this  casement; — 
•the  air  is  chilling  and  dangerous  to  your  frame.  Here  is  one  of  your 
favorite  romances.  I  will  read,  and  you  shall  listen; — and  so  we  will 
pass  away  this  terrible  night  together." 

The  antique  volume  which  I  had  taken  up  was  the  "Mad  Trist" 
of  Sir  Launcelot  Canning;  but  I  had  called  it  a  favorite  of  Usher's 
more  in  sad  jest  than  in  earnest;  for,  in  truth,  there  is  little  in  its 
uncouth  and  unimaginative  prolixity  which  could  have  had  interest 
for  the  lofty  and  spiritual  ideality  of  my  friend.  It  was,  however, 
the  only  book  immediately  at  hand;  and  I  indulged  a  vague  hope 
that  the  excitement  which  now  agitated  the  hypochondriac,  might 
find  relief  (for  the  history  of  mental  disorder  is  full  of  similar  anom- 
alies) even  hi  the  extremeness  of  the  folly  which  I  should  read. 
Could  I  have  judged,  indeed,  by  the  wild  overstrained  air  of  vivacity 
with  which  he  harkened,  or  apparently  barkened,  to  the  words  of 
the  tale,  I  might  well  have  congratulated  myself  upon  the  success  of 
my  design. 

I  had  arrived  at  that  well-known  portion  of  the  story  where  Ethel- 
red,  the  hero  of  the  Trist,  having  sought  in  vain  for  peaceable  admis- 
sion into  the  dwelling  of  the  hermit,  proceeds  to  make  good  an 


310  AMERICAN  PROSE 


entrance  by  force.  Here,  it  will  be  remembered,  the  words  of  the 
narrative  run  thus: 

"And  Ethelred,  who  was  by  nature  of  a  doughty  heart,  and  who 
was  now  mighty  withal,  on  account  of  the  powerfulness  of  the  wine 
which  he  had  drunken,  waited  no  longer  to  hold  parley  with  the  her- 
mit, who,  in  sooth,  was  of  an  obstinate  and  maliceful  turn,  but,  feeling 
the  rain  upon  his  shoulders,  and  fearing  the  rising  of  the  tempest, 
uplifted  his  mace  outright,  and,  with  blows,  made  quickly  room  in 
the  plankings  of  the  door  for  his  gauntleted  hand;  and  now  pulling 
therewith  sturdily,  he  so  cracked,  and  ripped,  and  tore  all  asunder, 
that  the  noise  of  the  dry  and  hollow-sounding  wood  alarummed  and 
reverberated  throughout  the  forest." 

At  the  termination  of  this  sentence  I  started,  and  for  a  moment, 
paused;  for  it  appeared  to  me  (although  I  at  once  concluded  that 
my  excited  fancy  had  deceived  me) — it  appeared  to  me  that, 
from  some  very  remote  portion  of  the  mansion,  there  came,  indis- 
tinctly, to  my  ears,  what  might  have  been,  in  its  exact  similarity  of 
character,  the  echo  (but  a  stifled  and  dull  one  certainly)  of  the  very 
cracking  and  ripping  sound  which  Sir  Launcelot  had  so  particularly 
described.  It  was,  beyond  doubt,  the  coincidence  alone  which  had 
arrested  my  attention;  for,  amid  the  rattling  of  the  sashes  of  the 
casements,  and  the  ordinary  commingled  noises  of  the  still  increasing 
storm,  the  sound,  in  itself,  had  nothing,  surely,  which  should  have 
interested  or  disturbed  me.  I  continued  the  story: 

"But  the  good  champion  Ethelred,  now  entering  within  the  door, 
was  sore  enraged  and  amazed  to  perceive  no  signal  of  the  maliceful 
hermit;  but,  in  the  stead  thereof,  a  dragon  of  a  scaly  and  prodigious 
demeanor,  and  of  a  fiery  tongue,  which  sate  in  guard  before  a  palace 
of  gold,  with  a  floor  of  silver;  and  upon  the  wall  there  hung  a  shield 
of  shining  brass  with  this  legend  enwritten — 

Who  entereth  herein,  a  conqueror  hath  bin; 
Who  slayeth  the  dragon,  the  shield  he  shall  win. 

And  Ethelred  uplifted  his  mace,  and  struck  upon  the  head  of  the 
dragon,  which  fell  before  him,  and  gave  up  his  pesty  breath,  with  a 
shriek  so  horrid  and  harsh,  and  withal  so  piercing,  that  Ethelred 
had  fain  to  close  his  ears  with  his  hands  against  the  dreadful  noise 
of  it,  the  like  whereof  was  never  before  heard." 


EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE  311 


Here  again  I  paused  abruptly,  and  now  with  a  feeling  of  wild 
amazement — for  there  could  be  no  doubt  whatever  that,  in  this 
instance,  I  did  actually  hear  (although  from  what  direction  it  pro- 
ceeded I  found  it  impossible  to  say)  a  low  and  apparently  distant,  but 
harsh,  protracted,  and  most  unusual  screaming  or  grating  sound — 
the  exact  counterpart  of  what  my  fancy  had  already  conjured  up 
for  the  dragon's  unnatural  shriek  as  described  by  the  romancer. 

Oppressed,  as  I  certainly  was,  upon  the  occurrence  of  this  second 
and  most  extraordinary  coincidence,  by  a  thousand  conflicting 
sensations,  in  which  wonder  and  extreme  terror  were  predominant, 
I  still  retained  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  avoid  exciting,  by  any 
observation,  the  sensitive  nervousness  of  my  companion.  I  was  by 
no  means  certain  that  he  had  noticed  the  sounds  in  question;  although, 
assuredly,  a  strange  alteration  had,  during  the  last  few  minutes,  taken 
place  in  his  demeanor.  From  a  position  fronting  my  own,  he  had 
gradually  brought  round  his  chair,  so  as  to  sit  with  his  face  to  the 
door  of  the  chamber;  and  thus  I  could  but  partially  perceive  his 
features,  although  I  saw  that  his  lips  trembled  as  if  he  were  murmur- 
ing inaudibly.  His  head  had  dropped  upon  his  breast — yet  I  knew 
that  he  was  not  asleep,  from  the  wide  and  rigid  opening  of  the  eye 
as  I  caught  a  glance  of  it  in  profile.  The  motion  of  his  body,  too,  was 
at  variance  with  this  idea — for  he  rocked  from  side  to  side  with  a 
gentle  yet  constant  and  uniform  sway.  Having  rapidly  taken  notice 
of  all  this,  I  resumed  the  narrative  of  Sir  Launcelot,  which  thus 
proceeded : 

"And  now,  the  champion,  having  escaped  from  the  terrible 
fury  of  the  dragon,  bethinking  himself  of  the  brazen  shield,  and  of  the 
breaking  up  of  the  enchantment  which  was  upon  it,  removed  the 
carcass  from  out  of  the  way  before  him,  and  approached  valorously 
over  the  silver  pavement  of  the  castle  to  where  the  shield  was  upon 
the  wall;  which  in  sooth  tarried  not  for  his  full  coming,  but  fell  down 
at  his  feet  upon  the  silver  floor,  with  a  mighty  great  and  terrible 
ringing  sound." 

No  sooner  had  these  syllables  passed  my  lips,  than — as  if  a  shield 
of  brass  had  indeed,  at  the  moment,  fallen  heavily  upon  a  floor  of 
silver — I  became  aware  of  a  distinct,  hollow,  metallic,  and  clangorous, 
yet  apparently  muffled  reverberation.  Completely  unnerved,  I 
leaped  to  my  feet;  but  the  measured  rocking  movement  of  Usher  was 


312  AMERICAN  PROSE 


undisturbed.  I  rushed  to  the  chair  in  which  he  sat.  His  eyes  were 
bent  fixedly  before  him,  and  throughout  his  whole  countenance  there 
reigned  a  stony  rigidity.  But,  as  I  placed  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
there  came  a  strong  shudder  over  his  whole  person;  a  sickly  smile 
quivered  about  his  lips;  and  I  saw  that  he  spoke  in  a  low,  hurried, 
and  gibbering  murmur,  as  if  unconscious  of  my  presence.  Bending 
closely  over  him,  I  at  length  drank  in  the  hideous  import  of  his 
words. 

"Not  hear  it  ? — yes,  I  hear  it,  and  have  heard  it.  Long — long — 
long — many  minutes,  many  hours,  many  days,  have  I  heard  it — yet 
I  dared  not — oh,  pity  me,  miserable  wretch  that  I  am! — I  dared 
not — I  dared  not  speak!  We  have  put  her  living  in  the  tomb!  Said 
I  not  that  my  senses  were  acute?  I  now  tell  you  that  I  heard  her 
first  feeble  movements  in  the  hollow  coffin.  I  heard  them — many, 
many  days  ago — yet  I  dared  not — /  dared  not  speak!  And  now — 
to-night — Ethelred — ha!  ha! — the  breaking  of  the  hermit's  door, 
and  the  death-cry  of  the  dragon,  and  the  clangor  of  the  shield! — 
say,  rather,  the  rending  of  her  coffin,  and  the  grating  of  the  iron 
hinges  of  her  prison,  and  her  struggles  within  the  coppered  archway 
of  the  vault!  Oh  whither  shall  I  fly?  Will  she  not  be  here  anon ? 
Is  she  not  hurrying  to  upbraid  me  for  my  haste  ?  Have  I  not  heard 
her  footstep  on  the  stair?  Do  I  not  distinguish  that  heavy  and 
horrible  beating  of  her  heart?  Madman!"  Here  he  sprang  furi- 
ously to  his  feet,  and  shrieked  out  his  syllables,  as  if  in  the  effort  he 
were  giving  up  his  soul — "Madman!  I  tell  you  that  she  now  stands 
without  the  door!" 

As  if  in  the  superhuman  energy  of  his  utterance  there  had  been 
found  the  potency  of  a  spell — the  huge  antique  pannels  to  which  the 
speaker  pointed,  threw  slowly  back,  upon  the  instant,  their  ponderous 
and  ebony  jaws.  It  was  the  work  of  the  rushing  gust — but  then 
without  those  doors  there  did  stand  the  lofty  and  enshrouded  figure 
of  the  lady  Madeline  of  Usher.  There  was  blood  upon  her  white 
robes,  and  the  evidence  of  some  bitter  struggle  upon  every  portion 
of  her  emaciated  frame.  For  a  moment  she  remained  trembling 
and  reeling  to  and  fro  upon  the  threshold — then,  with  a  low  moan- 
ing cry,  fell  heavily  inward  upon  the  person  of  her  brother,  and  in 
her  violent  and  now  final  death-agonies,  bore  him  to  the  floor  a  corpse, 
and  a  victim  to  the  terrors  he  had  anticipated. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  313 


From  that  chamber,  and  from  that  mansion,  I  fled  aghast.  The 
storm  was  still  abroad  in  all  its  wrath  as  I  found  myself  crossing  the 
old  causeway.  Suddenly  there  shot  along  the  path  a  wild  light,  and 
I  turned  to  see  whence  a  gleam  so  unusual  could  have  issued ;  for  the 
vast  house  and  its  shadows  were  alone  behind  me.  The  radiance 
was  that  of  the  full,  setting,  and  blood-red  moon,  which  now  shone 
vividly  through  that  once  barely-discernible  fissure,  of  which  I  have 
before  spoken  as  extending  from  the  roof  of  the  building,  in  a  zigzag 
direction,  to  the  base.  While  I  gazed,  this  fissure  rapidly  widened — 
there  came  a  fierce  breath  of  the  whirlwind — the  entire  orb  of  the 
satellite  burst  at  once  upon  my  sight — my  brain  reeled  as  I  saw  the 
mighty  walls  rushing  asunder — there  was  a  long  tumultuous  shouting 
sound  like  the  voice  of  a  thousand  waters — and  the  deep  and  dank 
tarn  at  my  feet  closed  sullenly  and  silently  over  the  fragments  of  the 
"House  of  Usher." 

THE  PIT  AND  THE  PENDULUM 

Impia  tortorum  longos  hie  turba  furores 
Sanguinis  innocui,  non  satiata,  aluit. 
Sospite  nunc  patria,  fracto  nunc  funeris  antro, 
Mors  ubi  dira  fuit  vita  salusque  patent. 

[Quatrain  composed  for  the  gates  of  a  market  to  be  erected  upon  the  site 

of  the  Jacobin  Club  House  at  Paris.] 

I  was  sick — sick  unto  death  with  that  long  agony;  and  when  they 
at  length  unbound  me,  and  I  was  permitted  to  sit,  I  felt  that  my  senses 
were  leaving  me.  The  sentence — the  dread  sentence  of  death — 
was  the  last  of  distinct  accentuation  which  reached  my  ears.  After 
that,  the  sound  of  the  inquisitorial  voices  seemed  merged  in  one 
dreamy  indeterminate  hum.  It  conveyed  to  my  soul  the  idea  of 
revolution — perhaps  from  its  association  in  fancy  with  the  burr  of  a 
mill-wheel.  This  only  for  a  brief  period;  for  presently  I  heard  no 
more.  Yet,  for  a  while,  I  saw;  but  with  how  terrible  an  exaggera- 
tion! I  saw  the  lips  of  the  black-robed  judges.  They  appeared  to 
me  white — white'r  than  the  sheet  upon  which  I  trace  these  words — 
and  thin  even  to  grotesqueness ;  thin  with  the  intensity  of  their  expres- 
sion of  firmness — of  immoveable  resolution — of  stern  contempt  of 
human  torture.  I  saw  that  the  decrees  of  what  to  me  was  Fate, 


314  AMERICAN  PROSE 


were  still  issuing  from  those  lips.  I  saw  them  writhe  with  a  deadly 
locution.  I  saw  them  fashion  the  syllables  of  my  name;  and  I  shud- 
dered because  no  sound  succeeded.  I  saw,  too,  for  a  few  moments 
of  delirious  horror,  the  soft  and  nearly  imperceptible  waving  of  the 
sable  draperies  which  enwrapped  the  walls  of  the  apartment.  And 
then  my  vision  fell  upon  the  seven  tall  candles  upon  the  table.  At 
first  they  wore  the  aspect  of  charity,  and  seemed  white  slender  angels 
who  would  save  me;  but  then,  all  at  once,  there  came  a  most  deadly 
nausea  over  my  spirit,  and  I  felt  every  fibre  in  my  frame  thrill  as  if 
I  had  touched  the  wire  of  a  galvanic  battery,  while  the  angel  forms 
became  meaningless  spectres,  with  heads  of  flame,  and  I  saw  that  from 
them  there  would  be  no  help.  And  then  there  stole  into  my  fancy, 
like  a  rich  musical  note,  the  thought  of  what  sweet  rest  there  must 
be  in  the  grave.  The  thought  came  gently  and  stealthily,  and  it 
seemed  long  before  it  attained  full  appreciation ;  but  just  as  my  spirit 
came  at  length  properly  to  feel  and  entertain  it,  the  figures  of  the 
judges  vanished,  as  if  magically,  from  before  me;  the  tall  candles 
sank  into  nothingness;  their  flames  went  out  utterly;  the  blackness 
of  darkness  supervened;  all  sensations  appeared  swallowed  up  in  a 
mad  rushing  descent  as  of  the  soul  into  Hades.  Then  silence,  and 
stillness,  and  night  were  the  universe. 

I  had  swooned;  but  still  will  not  say  that  all  of  consciousness  was 
lost.  What  of  it  there  remained  I  will  not  attempt  to  define,  or  even 
to  describe;  yet  all  was  not  lost.  In  the  deepest  slumber — no!  In 
delirium — no!  In  a  swoon — no!  In  death — no!  even  in  the  grave 
all  is  not  lost.  Else  there  is  no  immortality  for  man.  Arousing  from 
the  most  profound  of  slumbers,  we  break  the  gossamer  web  of  some 
dream.  Yet  in  a  second  afterward,  (so  frail  may  that  web  have  been) 
we  remember  not  that  we  have  dreamed.  In  the  return  to  life  from 
the  swoon  there  are  two  stages;  first,  that  of  the  sense  of  mental  or 
spiritual;  secondly,  that  of  the  sense  of  physical,  existence.  It 
seems  probable  that  if,  upon  reaching  the  second  stage,  we  could  recall 
the  impressions  of  the  first,  we  should  find  these  impressions  eloquent 
in  memories  of  the  gulf  beyond.  And  that  gulf  is — what?  How 
at  least  shall  we  distinguish  its  shadows  from  those  of  the  tomb? 
But  if  the  impressions  of  what  I  have  termed  the  first  stage,  are  not, 
at  will,  recalled,  yet,  after  long  interval,  do  they  not  come  unbidden, 
while  we  marvel  whence  they  come  ?  He  who  has  never  swooned,  is 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  315 


not  he  who  finds  strange  palaces  and  wildly  familiar  faces  in  coals 
that  glow;  is  not  he  who  beholds  floating  in  mid-air  the  sad  visions 
that  the  many  may  not  view;  is  not  he  who  ponders  over  the  perfume 
of  some  novel  flower — is  not  he  whose  brain  grows  bewildered  with 
the  meaning  of  some  musical  cadence  which  has  never  before  arrested 
his  attention. 

Amid  frequent  and  thoughtful  endeavors  to  remember;  amid 
earnest  struggles  to  regather  some  token  of  the  state  of  seeming 
nothingness  into  which  my  soul  had  lapsed,  there  have  been  moments 
when  I  have  dreamed  of  success;  there  have  been  brief,  very  brief 
periods  when  I  have  conjured  up  remembrances  which  the  lucid  reason 
of  a  later  epoch  assures  me  could  have  had  reference  only  to  that 
condition  of  seeming  unconsciousness.  These  shadows  of  memory 
tell,  indistinctly,  of  tall  figures  that  lifted  and  bore  me  in  silence 
down — down — still  down — till  a  hideous  dizziness  oppressed  me  at 
the  mere  idea  of  the  interminableness  of  the  descent.  They  tell  also 
of  a  vague  horror  at  my  heart,  on  account  of  that  heart's  unnatural 
stillness.  Then  comes  a  sense  of  sudden  motionlessness  throughout 
all  things;  as  if  those  who  bore  me  (a  ghastly  tram!)  had  outrun,  in 
their  descent,  the  limits  of  the  limitless,  and  paused  from  the  weari- 
someness  of  their  toil.  After  this  I  call  to  mind  flatness  and  damp- 
ness ;  and  then  all  is  madness — the  madness  of  a  memory  which  busies 
itself  among  forbidden  things. 

Very  suddenly  there  came  back  to  my  soul  motion  and  sound — 
the  tumultuous  motion  of  the  heart,  and,  in  my  ears,  the  sound  of  its 
beating.  Then  a  pause  in  which  all  is  blank.  Then  again  sound, 
and  motion,  and  touch — a  tingling  sensation  pervading  my  frame. 
Then  the  mere  consciousness  of  existence,  without  thought — a  condi- 
tion which  lasted  long.  Then,  very  suddenly,  thought,  and  shudder- 
ing terror,  and  earnest  endeavor  to  comprehend  my  true  state. 
Then  a  strong  desire  to  lapse  into  insensibility.  Then  a  rushing 
revival  of  soul  and  a  successful  effort  to  move.  And  now  a  full 
memory  of  the  trial,  of  the  judges,  of  the  sable  draperies,  of  the 
sentence,  of  the  sickness,  of  the  swoon.  Then  entire  forgetfulness 
of  all  that  followed;  of  all  that  a  later  day  and  much  earnestness  of 
endeavor  have  enabled  me  vaguely  to  recall. 

So  far,  I  had  not  opened  my  eyes.  I  felt  that  I  lay  upon  my 
back,  unbound.  I  reached  out  my  hand,  and  it  fell  heavily  upon 


316  AMERICAN  PROSE 


something  damp  and  hard.  There  I  suffered  it  to  remain  for  many 
minutes,  while  I  strove  to  imagine  where  and  what  I  could  be.  I 
longed,  yet  dared  not  to  employ  my  vision.  I  dreaded  the  first  glance 
at  objects  around  me.  It  was  not  that  I  feared  to  look  upon  things 
horrible,  but  that  I  grew  aghast  lest  there  should  be  nothing  to  see. 
At  length,  with  a  wild  desperation  at  heart,  I  quickly  unclosed  my 
eyes.  My  worst  thoughts,  then,  were  confirmed.  The  blackness  of 
eternal  night  encompassed  me.  I  struggled  for  breath.  The  in- 
tensity of  the  darkness  seemed  to  oppress  and  stifle  me.  The  atmos- 
phere was  intolerably  close.  I  still  lay  quietly,  and  made  effort 
to  exercise  my  reason.  I  brought  to  mind  the  inquisitorial  proceed- 
ings, and  attempted  from  that  point  to  deduce  my  real  condition. 
The  sentence  had  passed;  and  it  appeared  to  me  that  a  very  long 
interval  of  time  had  since  elapsed.  Yet  not  for  a  moment  did  I 
suppose  myself  actually  dead.  Such  a  supposition,  notwithstanding 
what  we  read  in  fiction,  is  altogether  inconsistent  with  real  existence; 
— but  where  and  in  what  state  was  I  ?  The  condemned  to  death,  I 
knew,  perished  usually  at  the  autos-da-j&,  and  one  of  these  had  been 
held  on  the  very  night  of  the  day  of  my  trial.  Had  I  been  remanded 
to  my  dungeon,  to  await  the  next  sacrifice,  which  would  not  take 
place  for  many  months  ?  This  I  at  once  saw  could  not  be.  Victims 
had  been  in  immediate  demand.  Moreover,  my  dungeon,  as  well  as 
all  the  condemned  cells  at  Toledo,  had  stone  floors,  and  light  was  not 
altogether  excluded. 

A  fearful  idea  now  suddenly  drove  the  blood  in  torrents  upon 
my  heart,  and  for  a  brief  period,  I  once  more  relapsed  into  insensi- 
bility. Upon  recovering,  I  at  once  started  to  my  feet,  trembling 
convulsively  in  every  fibre.  I  thrust  my  arms  wildly  above  and 
around  me  in  all  directions.  I  felt  nothing;  yet  dreaded  to  move  a 
step,  lest  I  should  be  impeded  by  the  walls  of  a  tomb.  Perspiration 
burst  from  every  pore,  and  stood  in  cold  big  beads  upon  my  forehead. 
The  agony  of  suspense,  grew  at  length  intolerable,  and  I  cautiously 
moved  forward,  with  my  arms  extended,  and  my  eyes  straining  from 
their  sockets,  in  the  hope  of  catching  some  faint  ray  of  light.  I  pro- 
ceeded for  many  paces;  but  still  all  was  blackness  and  vacancy.  I 
breathed  more  freely.  It  seemed  evident  that  mine  was  not,  at  least, 
the  most  hideous  of  fates. 

And  now,  as  I  still  continued  to  step  cautiously  onward,  there 
came  thronging  upon  my  recollection  a  thousand  vague  rumors  of 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  317 


the  horrors  of  Toledo.  Of  the  dungeons  there  had  been  strange 
things  narrated — fables  I  had  always  deemed  them — but  yet  strange, 
and  too  ghastly  to  repeat,  save  in  a  whisper.  Was  I  left  to  perish  of 
starvation  in  this  subterranean  world  of  darkness;  or  what  fate, 
perhaps  even  more  fearful,  awaited  me?  That  the  result  would  be 
death,  and  a  death  of  more  than  customary  bitterness,  I  knew  too 
well  the  character  of  my  judges  to  doubt.  The  mode  and  the  hour 
were  all  that  occupied  or  distracted  me. 

My  outstretched  hands  at  length  encountered  some  solid  obstruc- 
tion. It  was  a  wall,  seemingly  of  stone  masonry — very  smooth,  slimy, 
and  cold.  I  folio  wed  it  up;  stepping  with  all  the  careful  distrust  with 
which  certain  antique  narratives  had  inspired  me.  This  process, 
however,  afforded  me  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  dimensions  of  my 
dungeon ;  as  I  might  make  its  circuit ,  and  return  to  the  point  whence 
I  set  out,  without  being  aware  of  the  fact;  so  perfectly  uniform  seemed 
the  wall.  I  therefore  sought  the  knife  which  had  been  in  my  pocket, 
when  led  into  the  inquisitorial  chamber;  but  it  was  gone;  my  clothes 
had  been  exchanged  for  a  wrapper  of  coarse  serge.  I  had  thought 
of  forcing  the  blade  in  some  minute  crevice  of  the  masonry,  so  as  to 
identify  my  point  of  departure.  The  difficulty,  nevertheless,  was 
but  trivial;  although,  in  the  disorder  of  my  fancy,  it  seemed  at  first 
insuperable.  I  tore  a  part  of  the  hem  from  the  robe  and  placed  the 
fragment  at  full  length,  and  at  right  angles  to  the  wall.  In  groping 
my  way  around  the  prison,  I  could  not  fail  to  encounter  this  rag 
upon  completing  the  circuit.  So,  at  least,  I  thought:  but  I  had  not 
counted  upon  the  extent  of  the  dungeon,  or  upon  my  own  weakness. 
The  ground  was  moist  and  slippery.  I  staggered  onward  for  some 
time,  when  I  stumbled  and  fell.  My  excessive  fatigue  induced  me 
to  remain  prostrate;  and  sleep  soon  overtook  me  as  I  lay. 

Upon  awaking,  and  stretching  forth  an  arm,  I  found  beside 
me  a  loaf  and  a  pitcher  with  water.  I  was  too  much  exhausted  to 
reflect  upon  this  circumstance,  but  ate  and  drank  with  avidity. 
Shortly  afterward,  I  resumed  my  tour  around  the  prison,  and  with 
much  toil,  came  at  last  upon  the  fragment  of  the  serge.  Up  to  the 
period  when  I  fell,  I  had  counted  fifty-two  paces,  and,  upon  resuming 
my  walk,  I  had  counted  forty-eight  more — when  I  arrived  at  the  rag. 
There  were  in  all,  then,  a  hundred  paces;  and,  admitting  two  paces 
to  the  yard,  I  presumed  the  dungeon  to  be  fifty  yards  in  circuit.  I 
had  met,  however,  with  many  angles  in  the  wall,  and  thus  I  could 


318  AMERICAN  PROSE 


form  no  guess  at  the  shape  of  the  vault;  for  vault  I  could  not  help 
supposing  it  to  be. 

I  had  little  object — certainly  no  hope — in  these  researches;  but 
a  vague  curiosity  prompted  me  to  continue  them.  Quitting  the  wall, 
I  resolved  to  cross  the  area  of  the  enclosure.  At  first,  I  proceeded 
with  extreme  caution,  for  the  floor,  although  seemingly  of  solid 
material,  was  treacherous  with  slime.  At  length,  however,  I  took 
courage,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  step  firmly — endeavoring  to  cross  in 
as  direct  a  line  as  possible.  I  had  advanced  some  ten  or  twelve  paces 
in  this  manner,  when  the  remnant  of  the  torn  hem  of  my  robe  became 
entangled  between  my  legs.  I  stepped  on  it,  and  fell  violently  on 
my  face. 

In  the  confusion  attending  my  fall,  I  did  not  immediately  appre- 
hend a  somewhat  startling  circumstance,  which  yet,  in  a  few  seconds 
afterward,  and  while  I  still  lay  prostrate,  arrested  my  attention.  It 
was  this:  my  chin  rested  upon  the  floor  of  the  prison,  but  my  lips, 
and  the  upper  portion  of  my  head,  although  seemingly  at  a  less  eleva- 
tion than  the  chin,  touched  nothing.  At  the  same  time,  my  fore- 
head seemed  bathed  in  a  clammy  vapor,  and  the  peculiar  smell  of 
decayed  fungus  arose  to  my  nostrils.  I  put  forward  my  arm,  and 
shuddered  to  find  that  I  had  fallen  at  the  very  brink  of  a  circular  pit, 
whose  extent,  of  course,  I  had  no  means  of  ascertaining  at  the  moment. 
Groping  about  the  masonry  just  below  the  margin,  I  succeeded  in 
dislodging  a  small  fragment,  and  let  it  fall  into  the  abyss.  For  many 
seconds  I  hearkened  to  its  reverberations  as  it  dashed  against  the 
sides  of  the  chasm  in  its  descent:  at  length,  there  was  a  sudden  plunge 
into  water,  succeeded  by  loud  echoes.  At  the  same  moment,  there 
came  a  sound  resembling  the  quick  opening,  and  as  rapid  closing  of  a 
door  overhead,  while  a  fault  gleam  of  light  flashed  suddenly  through 
the  gloom,  and  as  suddenly  faded  away. 

I  saw  clearly  the  doom  which  had  been  prepared  for  me,  and  con- 
gratulated myself  upon  the  timely  accident  by  which  I  had  escaped. 
Another  step  before  my  fall,  and  the  world  had  seen  me  no  more. 
And  the  death  just  avoided,  was  of  that  very  character  which  I  had 
regarded  as  fabulous  and  frivolous  in  the  tales  respecting  the  Inquisi- 
tion. To  the  victims  of  its  tyranny,  there  was  the  choice  of  death 
with  its  direst  physical  agonies,  or  death  with  its  most  hideous  moral 
horrors.  I  had  been  reserved  for  the  latter.  By  long  suffering  my 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  319 

nerves  had  been  unstrung,  until  I  trembled  at  the  sound  of  my  own 
voice,  and  had  become  in  every  respect  a  fitting  subject  for  the  species 
of  torture  which  awaited  me. 

Shaking  in  every  limb,  I  groped  my  way  back  to  the  wall — resolv- 
ing there  to  perish  rather  than  risk  the  terror  of  the  wells,  of  which 
my  imagination  now  pictured  many  in  various  positions  about  the 
dungeon.  In  other  conditions  of  mind,  I  might  have  had  courage 
to  end  my  misery  at  once,  by  a  plunge  into  one  of  these  abysses;  but 
now  I  was  the  veriest  of  cowards.  Neither  could  I  forget  what  I  had 
read  of  these  pits — that  the  sudden  extinction  of  life  formed  no  part 
of  their  most  horrible  plan. 

Agitation  of  spirit  kept  me  awake  for  many  long  hours;  but  at 
length  I  again  slumbered.  Upon  arousing,  I  found  by  my  side,  as 
before,  a  loaf  and  a  pitcher  of  water.  A  burning  thirst  consumed  me, 
and  I  emptied  the  vessel  at  a  draught.  It  must  have  been  drugged — 
for  scarcely  had  I  drunk,  before  I  became  irresistibly  drowsy.  A  deep 
sleep  fell  upon  me — a  sleep  like  that  of  death.  How  long  it  lasted, 
of  course  I  know  not;  but  when,  once  again,  I  unclosed  my  eyes,  the 
objects  around  me  were  visible.  By  a  wild,  sulphurous  lustre,  the 
origin  of  which  I  could  not  at  first  determine,  I  was  enabled  to  see  the 
extent  and  aspect  of  the  prison. 

In  its  size  I  had  been  greatly  mistaken.  The  whole  circuit  of  its 
walls  did  not  exceed  twenty-five  yards.  For  some  minutes  this  fact 
occasioned  me  a  world  of  vain  trouble;  vain  indeed — for  what 
could  be  of  less  importance,  under  the  terrible  circumstances  which 
environed  me,  than  the  mere  dimensions  of  my  dungeon  ?  But  my 
soul  took  a  wild  interest  in  trifles,  and  I  busied  myself  in  endeavors 
to  account  for  the  error  I  had  committed  in  my  measurement.  The 
truth  at  length  flashed  upon  me.  In  my  first  attempt  at  exploration, 
I  had  counted  fifty-two  paces,  up  to  the  period  when  I  fell:  I  must 
then  have  been  within  a  pace  or  two  of  the  fragment  of  serge;  in 
fact,  I  had  nearly  performed  the  circuit  of  the  vault.  I  then  slept — 
and,  upon  awaking,  I  must  have  returned  upon  my  steps — thus  sup- 
posing the  circuit  nearly  double  what  it  actually  was.  My  confusion 
of  mind  prevented  me  from  observing  that  I  began  my  tour  with  the 
wall  to  the  left,  and  ended  it  with  the  wall  to  the  right. 

I  had  been  deceived,  too,  in  respect  to  the  shape  of  the  enclosure. 
In  feeling  my  way,  I  had  found  many  angles,  and  thus  deduced  an 


320  AMERICAN  PROSE 


idea  of  great  irregularity;  so  potent  is  the  effect  of  total  darkness 
upon  one  arousing  from  lethargy  or  sleep!  The  angles  were  simply 
those  of  a  few  slight  depressions,  or  niches,  at  odd  intervals.  The 
general  shape  of  the  prison  was  square.  What  I  had  taken  for 
masonry,  seemed  now  to  be  iron,  or  some  other  metal,  in  huge  plates, 
whose  sutures  or  joints  occasioned  the  depression.  The  entire  surface 
of  this  metallic  enclosure  was  rudely  daubed  in  all  the  hideous  and 
repulsive  devices  to  which  the  charnel  superstition  of  the  monks  has 
given  rise.  The  figures  of  fiends  in  aspects  of  menace,  with  skeleton 
forms,  and  other  more  really  fearful  images,  overspread  and  dis- 
figured the  walls.  I  observed  that  the  outlines  of  these  monstrosities 
were  sufficiently  distinct,  but  that  the  colors  seemed  faded  and 
blurred,  as  if  from  the  effects  of  a  damp  atmosphere.  I  now  noticed 
the  floor,  too,  which  was  of  stone.  In  the  centre  yawned  the  circular 
pit  from  whose  jaws  I  had  escaped;  but  it  was  the  only  one  in  the 
dungeon. 

All  this  I  saw  indistinctly  and  by  much  effort — for  ,my  personal 
condition  had  been  greatly  changed  during  slumber.  I  now  lay 
upon  my  back,  and  at  full  length,  on  a  species  of  low  framework  of 
wood.  To  this  I  was  securely  bound  by  a  long  strap  resembling  a 
surcingle.  It  passed  in  many  convolutions  about  my  limbs  and  body, 
leaving  at  liberty  only  my  head,  and  my  left  arm  to  such  extent,  that 
I  could,  by  .dint  of  much  exertion,  supply  myself  with  food  from  an 
earthen  dish  which  lay  by  my  side  on  the  floor.  I  saw,  to  my  horror, 
that  the  pitcher  had  been  removed.  I  say,  to  my  horror — for  I  was 
consumed  with  intolerable  thirst.  This  thirst  it  appeared  to  be 
the  design  of  my  persecutors  to  stimulate — for  the  food  in  the  dish 
was  meat  pungently  seasoned. 

Looking  upward,  I  surveyed  the  ceiling  of  my  prison.  It  was 
some  thirty  or  forty  feet  overhead,  and  constructed  much  as  the  side 
walls.  In  one  of  its  panels  a  very  singular  figure  riveted  my  whole 
attention.  It  was  the  painted  figure  of  Time  as  he  is  commonly 
represented,  save  that,  in  lieu  of  a  scythe,  he  held  what,  at  a  casual 
glance,  I  supposed  to  be  the  pictured  image  of  a  huge  pendulum,  such 
as  we  see  on  antique  clocks.  There  was  something,  however,  in 
the  appearance  of  this  machine  which  caused  me  to  regard  it  more 
attentively.  While  I  gazed  directly  upward  at  it,  (for  its  position 
was  immediately  over  my  own,)  I  fancied  that  I  saw  it  in  motion. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  321 


In  an  instant  afterward  the  fancy  was  confirmed.  Its  sweep  was 
brief,  and  of  course  slow.  I  watched  it  for  some  minutes,  somewhat 
in  fear,  but  more  in  wonder.  Wearied  at  length  with  observing  its 
dull  movement,  I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  other  objects  in  the 
cell. 

A  slight  noise  attracted  my  notice,  and,  looking  to  the  floor,  I 
saw  several  enormous  rats  traversing  it.  They  had  issued  from  the 
well,  which  lay  just  within  view  to  my  right.  Even  then,  while  I 
gazed,  they  came  up  in  troops,  hurriedly,  with  ravenous  eyes,  allured 
by  the  scent  of  the  meat.  From  this  it  required  much  effort  and 
attention  to  scare  them  away. 

It  might  have  been  half  an  hour,  perhaps  even  an  hour,  (for  I 
could  take  but  imperfect  note  of  time,)  before  I  again  cast  my  eyes 
upward.  What  I  then  saw,  confounded  and  amazed  me.  The  sweep 
of  the  pendulum  had  increased  in  extent  by  nearly  a  yard.  As  a 
natural  consequence,  its  velocity  was  also  much  greater.  But  what 
mainly  disturbed  me,  was  the  idea  that  it  had  perceptibly  descended. 
I  now  observed — with  what  horror  it  is  needless  to  say — that  its 
nether  extremity  was  formed  of  a  crescent  of  glittering  steel,  about 
a  foot  in  length  from  horn  to  horn;  the  horns  upward,  and  the  under 
edge  evidently  as  keen  as  that  of  a  razor.  Like  a  razor  also,  it  seemed 
massy  and  heavy,  tapering  from  the  edge  into  a  solid  and  broad 
structure  above.  It  was  appended  to  a  weighty  rod  of  brass,  and  the 
whole  hissed  as  it  swung  through  the  air. 

I  could  no  longer  doubt  the  doom  prepared  for  me  by  monkish 
ingenuity  hi  torture.  My  cognizance  of  the  pit  had  become  known 
to  the  inquisitorial  agents — the  pit,  whose  horrors  had  been  destined 
for  so  bold  a  recusant  as  myself — the  pit,  typical  of  hell,  and  regarded 
by  rumor  as  the  Ultima  Thule  of  all  their  punishments.  The  plunge 
into  this  pit  I  had  avoided  by  the  merest  of  accidents,  and  I  knew  that 
surprise,  or  entrapment  into  torment,  formed  an  important  portion 
of  all  the  grotesquerie  of  these  dungeon  deaths.  Having  failed  to 
fall,  it  was  no  part  of  the  demon  plan  to  hurl  me  into  the  abyss;  and 
thus  (there  being  no  alternative)  a  different  and  a  milder  destruction 
awaited  me.  Milder!  I  half  smiled  in  my  agony  as  I  thought  of  such 
application  of  such  a  term. 

What  boots  it  to  tell  of  the  long,  long  hours  of  horror  more  than 
mortal,  during  which  I  counted  the  rushing  vibrations  of  the  steel! 


322  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Inch  by  inch — line  by  line — with  a  descent  only  appreciable  at  inter- 
vals that  seemed  ages — down  and  still  down  it  came!  Days  passed — 
it  might  have  been  that  many  days  passed — ere  it  swept  so  closely 
over  me  as  to  fan  me  with  its  acrid  breath.  The  odor  of  the  sharp 
steel  forced  itself  into  my  nostrils.  I  prayed — I  wearied  heaven 
with  my  prayer  for  its  more  speedy  descent.  I  grew  frantically  mad, 
and  struggled  to  force  myself  up  ward,  against  the  sweep  of  the  fear- 
ful scimitar.  And  then  I  fell  suddenly  calm,  and  lay  smiling  at  the 
glittering  death,  as  a  child  at  some  rare  bauble. 

There  was  another  interval  of  utter  insensibility;  it  was  brief; 
for,  upon  again  lapsing  into  life,  there  had  been  no  perceptible  descent 
in  the  pendulum.  But  it  might  have  been  long — for  I  knew  there 
were  demons  who  took  note  of  my  swoon,  and  who  could  have  arrested 
the  vibration  at  pleasure.  Upon  my  recovery,  too,  I  felt  very — oh, 
inexpressibly — sick  and  weak,  as  if  through  long  inanition.  Even 
amid  the  agonies  of  that  period,  the  human  nature  craved  food. 
With  painful  effort  I  outstretched  my  left  arm  as  far  as  my  bonds 
permitted,  and  took  possession  of  the  small  remnant  which  had  been 
spared  me  by  the  rats.  As  I  put  a  portion  of  it  within  my  lips,  there 
rushed  to  my  mind  a  half -formed  thought  of  joy — of  hope.  Yet  what 
business  had  /  with  hope  ?  It  was,  as  I  say,  a  half-formed  thought — 
man  has  many  such,  which  are  never  completed.  I  felt  that  it  was 
of  joy — of  hope;  but  I  felt  also  that  it  had  perished  hi  its  formation. 
In  vain  I  struggled  to  perfect — to  regain  it.  Long  suffering  had 
nearly  annihilated  all  my  ordinary  powers  of  mind.  I  was  an  imbecile 
— an  idiot. 

The  vibration  of  the  pendulum  was  at  right  angles  to  my  length. 
I  saw  that  the  crescent  was  designed  to  cross  the  region  of  the  heart. 
It  would  fray  the  serge  of  my  robe — it  would  return  and  repeat  its 
operations — again — and  again.  Notwithstanding  its  terrifically  wide 
sweep,  (some  thirty  feet  or  more,)  and  the  hissing  vigor  of  its  descent, 
sufficient  to  sunder  these  very  walls  of  iron,  still  the  fraying  of  my 
robe  would  be  ah1  that,  for  several  minutes,  it  would  accomplish. 
And  at  this  thought  I  paused.  I  dared  not  go  farther  than  this  reflec- 
tion. I  dwelt  upon  it  with  a  pertinacity  of  attention — as  if,  in  so 
dwelling,  I  could  arrest  here  the  descent  of  the  steel.  I  forced  myself 
to  ponder  upon  the  sound  of  the  crescent  as  it  should  pass  across  the 
garment — upon  the  peculiar  thrilling  sensation  which  the  friction  of 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  323 


cloth  produces  on  the  nerves.  I  pondered  upon  all  this  frivolity 
until  my  teeth  were  on  edge. 

Down — steadily  down  it  crept.  I  took  a  frenzied  pleasure  in 
contrasting  its  downward  with  its  lateral  velocity.  To  the  right — 
to  the  left — far  and  wide — with  the  shriek  of  a  damned  spirit!  to  my 
heart,  with  the  stealthy  pace  of  the  tiger!  I  alternately  laughed  and 
howled,  as  the  one  or  the  other  idea  grew  predominant. 

Down — certainly,  relentlessly  down!  It  vibrated  within  three 
inches  of  my  bosom!  I  struggled  violently — furiously — to  free  my 
left  arm.  This  was  free  only  from  the  elbow  to  the  hand.  I  could 
reach  the  latter,  from  the  platter  beside  me,  to  my  mouth,  with  great 
effort,  but  no  farther.  Could  I  have  broken  the  fastenings  above  the 
elbow,  I  would  have  seized  and  attempted  to  arrest  the  pendulum. 
I  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  arrest  an  avalanche! 

Down — still  unceasingly — still  inevitably  down!  I  gasped  and 
struggled  at  each  vibration.  I  shrunk  convulsively  at  its  every  sweep. 
My  eyes  followed  its  outward  or  upward  whirls  with  the  eagerness 
of  the  most  unmeaning  despair;  they  closed  themselves  spasmodically 
at  the  descent,  although  death  would  have  been  a  relief,  oh,  how  un- 
speakable! Still  I  quivered  in  every  nerve  to  think  how  slight  a 
sinking  of  the  machinery  would  precipitate  that  keen,  glistening  axe 
upon  my  bosom.  It  was  hope  that  prompted  the  nerve  to  quiver — the 
frame  to  shrink.  It  was  hope — the  hope  that  triumphs  on  the  rack — 
that  whispers  to  the  death-condemned  even  in  the  dungeons  of  the 
Inquisition. 

I  saw  that  some  ten  or  twelve  vibrations  would  bring  the  steel 
in  actual  contact  with  my  robe — and  with  this  observation  there 
suddenly  came  over  my  spirit  all  the  keen,  collected  calmness  of 
despair.  For  the  first  tune  during  many  hours — or  perhaps  days — I 
thought.  It  now  occurred  to  me,  that  the  bandage,  or  surcingle, 
which  enveloped  me,  was  unique.  I  was  tied  by  no  separate  cord. 
The  first  stroke  of  the  razor-like  crescent  athwart  any  portion  of  the 
band,  would  so  detach  it  that  it  might  be  unwound  from  my  person 
by  means  of  my  left  hand.  But  how  fearful,  in  that  case,  the  prox- 
imity of  the  steel!  The  result  of  the  slightest  struggle,  how  deadly! 
Was  it  likely,  moreover,  that  the  minions  of  the  torturer  had  not 
foreseen  and  provided  for  this  possibility  ?  Was  it  probable  that  the 
bandage  crossed  my  bosom  in  the  track  of  the  pendulum  ?  Dreading 


324  AMERICAN  PROSE 


to  find  my  faint,  and,  as  it  seemed,  my  last  hope  frustrated,  I  so 
far  elevated  my  head  as  to  obtain  a  distinct  view  of  my  breast. 
The  surcingle  enveloped  my  limbs  and  body  close  in  all  directions — 
save  in  the  path  of  the  destroying  crescent. 

Scarcely  had  I  dropped  my  head  back  into  its  original  position, 
when  there  flashed  upon  my  mind  what  I  cannot  better  describe  than 
as  the  unformed  half  of  that  idea  of  deliverance  to  which  I  have 
previously  alluded,  and  of  which  a  moiety  only  floated  indeterminately 
through  my  brain  when  I  raised  food  to  my  burning  lips.  The  whole 
thought  was  now  present — feeble,  scarcely  sane,  scarcely  definite — 
but  still  entire.  I  proceeded  at  once,  with  the  nervous  energy  of 
despair,  to  attempt  its  execution. 

For  many  hours  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  low  frame-work 
upon  which  I  lay,  had  been  literally  swarming  with  rats.  They  were 
wild,  bold,  ravenous — their  red  eyes  glaring  upon  me  as  if  they  waited 
but  for  motionlessness  on  my  part  to  make  me  their  prey.  "To 
what  food,"  I  thought,  "have  they  been  accustomed  in  the  well  ?" 

They  had  devoured,  in  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  prevent  them, 
all  but  a  small  remnant  of  the  contents  of  the  dish.  I  had  fallen 
into  an  habitual  see-saw,  or  wave  of  the  hand  about  the  platter; 
and,  at  length,  the  unconscious  uniformity  of  the  movement  deprived 
it  of  effect.  In  their  voracity,  the  vermin  frequently  fastened  their 
sharp  fangs  in  my  fingers.  With  the  particles  of  the  oily  and  spicy 
viand  which  now  remained,  I  thoroughly  rubbed  the  bandage 
wherever  I  could  reach  it;  then,  raising  my  hand  from  the  floor,  I 
lay  breathlessly  still. 

At  first,  the  ravenous  animals  were  startled  and  terrified  at  the 
change — at  the  cessation  of  movement.  They  shrank  alarmedly 
back;  many  sought  the  well.  But  this  was  only  for  a  moment. 
I  had  not  counted  in  vain  upon  their  voracity.  Observing  that  I 
remained  without  motion,  one  or  two  of  the  boldest  leaped  upon  the 
frame-work,  and  smelt  at  the  surcingle.  This  seemed  the  signal  for 
a  general  rush.  Forth  from  the  well  they  hurried  in  fresh  troops. 
They  clung  to  the  wood — they  overran  it,  and  leaped  in  hundreds 
upon  my  person.  4  The  measured  movement  of  the  pendulum 
disturbed  them  not  at  all.  Avoiding  its  strokes,  they  busied  them- 
selves with  the  anointed  bandage.  They  pressed — they  swarmed 
upon  me  in  ever  accumulating  heaps.  They  writhed  upon  my  throat ; 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  325 

their  co|d  lips  sought  my  own;  I  was  half  stifled  by  their  thronging 
pressure;  disgust,  for  which  the  world  has  no  name,  swelled  my 
bosom,  and  chilled,  with  a  heavy  clamminess,  my  heart.  Yet  one 
minute,  and  I  felt  that  the  struggle  would  be  over.  Plainly  I  per- 
ceived the  loosening  of  the  bandage.  I  knew  that  in  more  than 
one  place  it  must  be  already  severed.  With  a  more  than  human 
resolution  I  lay  still. 

Nor  had  I  erred  in  my  calculations — nor  had  I  endured  in  vain. 
I  at  length  felt  that  I  was  free.  The  surcingle  hung  in  ribands  from 
my  body.  But  the  stroke  of  the  pendulum  already  pressed  upon  my 
bosom.  It  had  divided  the  serge  of  the  robe.  It  had  cut  through  the 
linen  beneath.  Twice  again  it  swung,  and  a  sharp  sense  of  pain  shot 
through  every  nerve.  But  the  moment  of  escape  had  arrived.  At 
a  wave  of  my  hand  my  deliverers  hurried  tumultuously  away.  With 
a  steady  movement — cautious,  sidelong,  shrinking,  and  slow — I  slid 
from  the  embrace  of  the  bandage  and  beyond  the  reach  of  the  scimitar. 
For  the  moment,  at  least,  /  was  free. 

Free! — and  in  the  grasp  of  the  Inquisition!  I  had  scarcely 
stepped  from  my  wooden  bed  of  horror  upon  the  stone  floor  of  the 
prison,  when  the  motion  of  the  hellish  machine  ceased,  and  I  beheld 
it  drawn  up,  by  some  invisible  force,  through  the  ceiling.  This  was 
a  lesson  which  I  took  desperately  to  heart.  My  every  motion  was 
undoubtedly  watched.  Free! — I  had  but  escaped  death  in  one  form 
of  agony,  to  be  delivered  unto  worse  than  death  in  some  other.  With 
that  thought  I  rolled  my  eyes  nervously  around  on  the  barriers  of 
iron  that  hemmed  me  in.  Something  unusual — some  change  which, 
at  first,  I  could  not  appreciate  distinctly — it  was  obvious,  had  taken 
place  in  the  apartment.  For  many  minutes  of  a  dreamy  and  trem- 
bling abstraction,  I  busied  myself  in  vain,  unconnected  conjecture. 
During  this  period,  I  became  aware,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  origin  of 
the  sulphurous  light  which  illumined  the  cell.  It  proceeded  from  a 
fissure,  about  half  an  inch  in  width,  extending  entirely  around  the 
prison  at  the  base  of  the  walls,  which  thus  appeared,  and  were  com- 
pletely separated  from  the  floor.  I  endeavored,  but  of  course  in 
vain,  to  look  through  the  aperture. 

As  I  arose  from  the  attempt,  the  mystery  of  the  alteration  in  the 
chamber  broke  at  once  upon  my  understanding.  I  have  observed  that, 
although  the  outlines  of  the  figures  upon  the  walls  were  sufficiently 


326  AMERICAN  PROSE 

distinct,  yet  the  colors  seemed  blurred  and  indefinite.  These  colors 
had  now  assumed,  and  were  momentarily  assuming,  a  startling  and 
most  intense  brilliancy,  that  gave  to  the  spectral  and  fiendish 
portraitures  an  aspect  that  might  have  thrilled  even  firmer  nerves 
than  my  own.  Demon  eyes,  of  a  wild  and  ghastly  vivacity,  glared 
upon  me  in  a  thousand  directions,  where  none  had  been  visible  before, 
and  gleamed  with  the  lurid  lustre  of  a  fire  that  I  could  not  force  my 
imagination  to  regard  as  unreal. 

Unreal! — Even  while  I  breathed  there  came  to  my  nostrils  the 
breath  of  the  vapor  of  heated  iron!  A  suffocating  odor  pervaded 
the  prison!  A  deeper  glow  settled  each  moment  in  the  eyes  that 
glared  at  my  agonies!  A  richer  tint  of  crimson  diffused  itself  over 
the  pictured  horrors  of  blood.  I  panted!  I  gasped  for  breath! 
There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  design  of  my  tormentors — oh!  most 
unrelenting !  oh !  most  demoniac  of  men !  I  shrank  from  the  glowing 
metal  to  the  centre  of  the  cell.  Amid  the  thought  of  the  fiery 
destruction  that  impended,  the  idea  of  the  coolness  of  the  well  came 
over  my  soul  like  balm.  I  rushed  to  its  deadly  brink.  I  threw  my 
straining  vision  below.  The  glare  from  the  enkindled  roof  illumined 
its  inmost  recesses.  Yet,  for  a  wild  moment,  did  my  spirit  refuse 
to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  what  I  saw.  At  length  it  forced — it 
wrestled  its  way  into  my  soul — it  burned  itself  in  upon  my  shuddering 
reason.  Oh!  for  a  voice  to  speak! — oh!  horror! — oh!  any  horror 
but  this!  With  a  shriek,  I  rushed  from  the  margin,  and  buried  my 
face  in  my  hands — weeping  bitterly. 

The  heat  rapidly  increased,  and  once  again  I  looked  up,  shudder- 
ing as  with  a  fit  of  the  ague.  There  had  been  a  second  change  in  the 
cell — and  now  the  change  was  obviously  in  the  form.  As  before,  it 
was  in  vain  that  I  at  first  endeavored  to  appreciate  or  understand 
what  was  taking  place.  But  not  long  was  I  left  in  doubt.  The 
Inquisitorial  vengeance  had  been  hurried  by  my  two-fold  escape, 
and  there  was  to  be  no  more  dallying  with  the  King  of  Terrors.  The 
room  had  been  square.  I  saw  that  two  of  its  iron  angles  were  now 
acute — two,  consequently,  obtuse.  The  fearful  difference  quickly 
increased  with  a  low  rumbling  or  moaning  sound.  In  an  instant 
the  apartment  had  shifted  its  form  into  that  of  a  lozenge.  But  the 
alteration  stopped  not  here — I  neither  hoped  nor  desired  it  to  stop. 
I  could  have  clasped  the  red  walls  to  my  bosom  as  a  garment  of  eternal 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  327 


peace.  "Death,"  I  said,  "any  death  but  that  of  the  pit!"  Fool! 
might  I  not  have  known  that  into  the  pit  it  was  the  object  of  the  burn- 
ing iron  to  urge  me  ?  Could  I  resist  its  glow  ?  or  if  even  that,  could 
I  withstand  its  pressure?  And  now,  flatter  and  flatter  grew  the 
lozenge,  with  a  rapidity  that  left  me  no  time  for  contemplation.  Its 
centre,  and  of  course,  its  greatest  width,  came  just  over  the  yawning 
gulf.  I  shrank  back — but  the  closing  walls  pressed  me  resistlessly 
onward.  At  length  for  my  seared  and  writhing  body  there  was  no 
longer  an  inch  of  foothold  on  the  firm  floor  of  the  prison.  I  struggled 
no  more,  but  the  agony  of  my  soul  found  vent  in  one  loud,  long,  and 
final  scream  of  despair.  I  felt  that  I  tottered  upon  the  brink — I 
averted  my  eyes — 

There  was  a  discordant  hum  of  human  voices!  There  was  a 
loud  blast  as  of  many  trumpets!  There  was  a  harsh  grating  as  of  a 
thousand  thunders!  The  fiery  walls  rushed  back!  An  outstretched 
arm  caught  my  own  as  I  fell,  fainting,  into  the  abyss.  It  was  that 
of  General  Lasalle.  The  French  army  had  entered  Toledo.  The 
Inquisition  was  in  the  hands  of  its  enemies. 


THE  PURLOINED  LETTER 

Nil  sapientiae  odiosius  acumine  nimio. 


Seneca. 


At  Paris,  just  after  dark  one  gusty  evening  in  the  autumn  of 
1 8 — ,  I  was  enjoying  the  twofold  luxury  of  meditation  and  a  meer- 
schaum, in  company  with  my  friend,  C.  Auguste  Dupin,  in  his  little 
back  library,  or  book-closet,  au  troisidme,  No.  33,  Rue  Dunot,  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain.  For  one  hour  at  least  we  had  maintained  a  pro- 
found silence;  while  each,  to  any  casual  observer,  might  have  seemed 
intently  and  exclusively  occupied  with  the  curling  eddies  of  smoke 
that  oppressed  the  atmosphere  of  the  chamber.  For  myself,  however, 
I  was  mentally  discussing  certain  topics  which  had  formed  matter 
for  conversation  between  us  at  an  earlier  period  of  the  evening;  I 
mean  the  affair  of  the  Rue  Morgue,  and  the  mystery  attending  the 
murder  of  Marie  Roget.  I  looked  upon  it,  therefore,  as  something  of 
a  coincidence,  when  the  door  of  our  apartment  was  thrown  open  and 

admitted  our  old  acquaintance,  Monsieur  G ,  the  Prefect  of  the 

Parisian  police. 


328  AMERICAN  PROSE 


We  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome;  for  there  was  nearly  half  as  much 
of  the  entertaining  as  of  the  contemptible  about  the  man,  and  we 
had  not  seen  him  for  several  years.  We  had  been  sitting  in  the  dark, 
and  Dupin  now  arose  for  the  purpose  of  lighting  a  lamp,  but  sat  down 
again  without  doing  so,  upon  G.'s  saying  that  he  had  called  to  consult 
us,  or  rather  to  ask  the  opinion  of  my  friend,  about  some  official 
business  which  had  occasioned  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

"If  it  is  any  point  requiring  reflection,"  observed  Dupin,  as  he 
forebore  to  enkindle  the  wick,  "we  shall  examine  it  to  better  purpose 
in  the  dark." 

"That  is  another  of  your  odd  notions, "  said  the  Prefect,  who  had 
a  fashion  of  calling  every  thing  "odd"  that  was  beyond  his  compre- 
hension, and  thus  lived  amid  an  absolute  legion  of  "oddities." 

"Very  true,"  said  Dupin,  as  he  supplied  his  visiter  with  a  pipe, 
and  rolled  towards  him  a  comfortable  chair. 

"And  what  is  the  difficulty  now?"  Tasked.  "  Nothing  more  in 
the  assassination  way,  I  hope?" 

"Oh,  no;  nothing  of  that  nature.  The  fact  is,  the  business  is 
very  simple  indeed,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  we  can  manage  it 
sufficiently  well  ourselves;  but  then  I  thought  Dupin  would  like  to 
hear  the  details  of  it,  because  it  is  so  excessively  odd." 

"Simple  and  odd,"  said  Dupin. 

"  Why,  yes ;  and  not  exactly  that ,  either.  The  fact  is,  we  have  all 
been  a  good  deal  puzzled  because  the  affair  is  so  simple,  and  yet 
baffles  us  altogether." 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  very  simplicity  of  the  thing  which  puts  you 
at  fault,"  said  my  friend. 

"What  nonsense  you  do  talk!"  replied  the  Prefect,  laughing 
heartily. 

"Perhaps  the  mystery  is  a  little  loo  plain,"  said  Dupin. 

"Oh,  good  heavens!  who  ever  heard  of  such  an  idea  ?" 

"A  little  too  self-evident." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha! — ha!  ha!  ha! — ho!  ho!  ho!"  roared  our  visiter, 
profoundly  amused,  "oh,  Dupin,  you  will  be  the  death  of  me  yet!" 

"And  what,  after  all,  is  the  matter  on  hand  ?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  Prefect,  as  he  gave  a  long, 
steady,  and  contemplative  puff,  and  settled  himself  in  his  chair. 
"I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words;  but,  before  I  begin,  let  me  caution 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  329 


you  that  this  is  an  affair  demanding  the  greatest  secrecy,  and  that  I 
should  most  probably  lose  the  position  I  now  hold,  were  it  known  that 
I  confided  it  to  any  one." 

"Proceed,"  said  I. 

"Or  not,"  said  Dupin. 

"Well,  then;  I  have  received  personal  information,  from  a  very 
high  quarter,  that  a  certain  document  of  the  last  importance,  has  been 
purloined  from  the  royal  apartments.  The  individual  who  purloined 
it  is  known;  this  beyond  a  doubt;  he  was  seen  to  take  it.  It  is 
known,  also,  that  it  still  remains  in  his  possession." 

"How  is  this  known?"  asked  Dupin. 

"It  is  clearly  inferred,"  replied  the  Prefect,  "from  the  nature  of 
the  document,  and  from  the  non-appearance  of  certain  results  which 
would  at  once  arise  from  its  passing  out  of  the  robber's  possession; — 
that  is  to  say,  from  his  employing  it  as  he  must  design  in  the  end  to 
employ  it." 

"Be  a  little  more  explicit,"  I  said. 

"Well,  I  may  venture  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  paper  gives  its 
holder  a  certain  power  in  a  certain  quarter  where  such  power  is 
immensely  valuable."  The  Prefect  was  fond  of  the  cant  of  diplo- 
macy. 

"Still  I  do  not  quite  understand,"  said  Dupin. 

"No?  Well;  the  disclosure  of  the  document  to  a  third  person, 
who  shall  be  nameless,  would  bring  in  question  the  honor  of  a  person- 
age of  most  exalted  station;  and  this  fact  gives  the  holder  of  the  docu- 
ment an  ascendancy  over  the  illustrious  personage  whose  honor  and 
peace  are  so  jeopardized." 

"But  this  ascendancy,"  I  interposed,  "would  depend  upon  the 
robber's  knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowledge  of  the  robber.  Who 
would  dare — " 

"The  thief,"  said  G.,  "is  the  Minister  D ,  who  dares  all 

things,  those  unbecoming  as  well  as  those  becoming  a  man.  The 
method  of  the  theft  was  not  less  ingenious  than  bold.  The  document 
in  question — a  letter,  to  be  frank — had  been  received  by  the  personage 
robbed  while  alone  in  the  royal  boudoir.  During  its  perusal  she  was 
suddenly  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  other  exalted  personage 
from  whom  especially  it  was  her  wish  to  conceal  it.  After  a  hurried 
and  vain  endeavor  to  thrust  it  in  a  drawer,  she  was  forced  to  place  it, 


330  AMERICAN  PROSE 


open  as  it  was,  upon  a  table.  The  address,  however,  was  uppermost, 
and,  the  contents  thus  unexposed,  the  letter  escaped  notice.  At 

this  juncture  enters  the  Minister  D .  His  lynx  eye  immediately 

perceives  the  paper,  recognises  the  handwriting  of  the  address, 
observes  the  confusion  of  the  personage  addressed,  and  fathoms 
her  secret.  After  some  business  transactions,  hurried  through  in  his 
ordinary  manner,  he  produces  a  letter  somewhat  similar  to  the  one 
in  question,  opens  it,  pretends  to  read  it,  and  then  places  it  in  close 
juxtaposition  to  the  other.  Again  he  converses,  for  some  fifteen 
minutes,  upon  the  public  affairs.  At  length,  in  taking  leave,  he  takes 
also  from  the  table  the  letter  to  which  he  had  no  claim.  Its  rightful 
owner  saw,  but,  of  course,  dared  not  call  attention  to  the  act,  in  the 
presence  of  the  third  personage  who  stood  at  her  elbow.  The  min- 
ister decamped;  leaving  his  own  letter — one  of  no  importance — upon 
the  table." 

"Here,  then,"  said  Dupin  to  me,  "you  have  precisely  what  you 
demand  to  make  the  ascendancy  complete — the  robber's  knowledge 
of  the  loser's  knowledge  of  the  robber." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Prefect;  "and  the  power  thus  attained  has, 
for  some  months  past,  been  wielded,  for  political  purposes,  to  a  very- 
dangerous  extent.  The  personage  robbed  is  more  thoroughly  con- 
vinced, every  day,  of  the  necessity  of  reclaiming  her  letter.  But  this, 
of  course,  cannot  be  done  openly.  In  fine,  driven  to  despair,  she  has 
committed  the  matter  to  me." 

"Than  whom,"  said  Dupin,  amid  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  smoke, 
"no  more  sagacious  agent  could,  I  suppose,  be  desired,  or  even 
imagined." 

"You  flatter  me,"  replied  the  Prefect;  "but  it  is  possible  that 
some  such  opinion  may  have  been  entertained." 

"It  is  clear,"  said  I,  "as  you  observe,  that  the  letter  is  still  in 
possession  of  the  minister;  since  it  is  this  possession,  and  not  any 
employment  of  the  letter,  which  bestows  the  power.  With  the  em- 
ployment the  power  departs." 

"True,"  said  G.;  "and  upon  this  conviction  I  proceeded.  My 
first  care  was  to  make  thorough  search  of  the  minister's  hotel;  and 
here  my  chief  embarrassment  lay  in  the  necessity  of  searching  with- 
out his  knowledge.  Beyond  all  things,  I  have  been  warned  of  the 
danger  which  would  result  from  giving  him  reason  to  suspect  our 
design." 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  331 


"But,"  said  I,  "you  are  quite  aufait  in  these  investigations.  The 
Parisian  police  have  done  this  thing  often  before." 

"Oyes;  and  for  this  reason  I  did  not  despair.  The  habits  of  the 
minister  gave  me,  too,  a  great  advantage.  He  is  frequently  absent 
from  home  all  night.  His  servants  are  by  no  means  numerous. 
They  sleep  at  a  distance  from  their  master's  apartment,  and,  being 
chiefly  Neapolitans,  are  readily  made  drunk.  I  have  keys,  as  you 
know,  with  which  I  can  open  any  chamber  or  cabinet  in  Paris.  For 
three  months  a  night  has  not  passed,  during  the  greater  part  of  which 

I  have  not  been  engaged,  personally,  in  ransacking  the  D 

Hotel.  My  honor  is  interested,  and,  to  mention  a  great  secret,  the 
reward  is  enormous.  So  I  did  not  abandon  the  search  until  I  had 
become  fully  satisfied  that  the  thief  is  a  more  astute  man  than  myself. 
I  fancy  that  I  have  investigated  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  premises 
in  which  it  is  possible  that  the  paper  can  be  concealed." 

"But  is  it  not  possible,"  I  suggested,  "that  although  the  letter 
may  be  in  possession  of  the  minister,  as  it  unquestionably  is,  he  may 
have  concealed  it  elsewhere  than  upon  his  own  premises  ?  " 

"This  is  barely  possible,"  said  Dupin.  "The  present  peculiar 
condition  of  affairs  at  court,  and  especially  of  those  intrigues  in  which 
D is  known  to  be  involved,  would  render  the  instant  avail- 
ability of  the  document — its  susceptibility  of  being  produced  at  a 
moment's  notice — a  point  of  nearly  equal -importance  with  its  pos- 
session." 

"Its  susceptibility  of  being  produced?"  said  I. 

"That  is  to  say,  of  being  destroyed,"  said  Dupin. 

"  True,"  I  observed ;  "the  paper  is  clearly  then  upon  the  premises. 
As  for  its  being  upon  the  person  of  the  minister,  we  may  consider 
that  as  out  of  the  question." 

"Entirely,"  said  the  Prefect.  "He  has  been  twice  waylaid,  as 
if  by  footpads,  and  his  person  rigorously  searched  under  my  own 
inspection." 

"You  might  have  spared  yourself  this  trouble,"  said  Dupin. 

"D ,  I  presume,  is  not  altogether  a  fool,  and,  if  not,  must  have 

anticipated  these  waylayings,  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"Not  altogether  a  fool,"  said  G.,  "but  then  he's  a  poet,  which  1 
take  to  be  only  one  remove  from  a  fool." 

"True,"  said  Dupin,  after  a  long  and  thoughtful  whiff  from  his 
meerschaum,  "although  I  have  been  guilty  of  certain  doggrel  myself." 


332  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"Suppose  you  detail,"  said  I,  "the  particulars  of  your  search." 

"Why  the  fact  is,  we  took  our  time,  and  we  searched  every  where. 
I  have  had  long  experience  in  these  affairs.  I  took  the  entire  building, 
room  by  room;  devoting  the  nights  of  a  whole  week  to  each.  We 
examined,  first,  the  furniture  of  each  apartment.  We  opened  every 
possible  drawer;  and  I  presume  you  know  that,  to  a  properly  trained 
police  agent,  such  a  thing  as  a  secret  drawer  is  impossible.  Any 
man  is  a  dolt  who  permits  a  '  secret '  drawer  to  escape  him  in  a  search 
of  this  kind.  The  thing  is  so  plain.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of 
bulk — of  space — to  be  accounted  for  in  every  cabinet.  Then  we 
have  accurate  rules.  The  fiftieth  part  of  a  line  could  not  escape  us. 
After  the  cabinets  we  took  the  chairs.  The  cushions  we  probed  with 
the  fine  long  needles  you  have  seen  me  employ.  From  the  tables  we 
removed  the  tops." 

"Why  so?" 

"Sometimes  the  top  of  a  table,  or  other  similarly  arranged  piece 
of  furniture,  is- removed  by  the  person  wishing  to  conceal  an  article; 
then  the  leg  is  excavated,  the  article  deposited  within  the  cavity,  and 
the  top  replaced.  The  bottoms  and  tops  of  bed-posts  are  employed 
hi  the  same  way." 

"But  could  not  the  cavity  be  detected  by  sounding  ?"  I  asked. 

"By  no  means,  if,  when  the  article  is  deposited,  a  sufficient 
wadding  of  cotton  be  placed  around  it.  Besides,  hi  our  case,  we  were 
obliged  to  proceed  without  noise." 

"But  you  could  not  have  removed — you  could  not  have  taken  to 
pieces  all  articles  of  furniture  in  which  it  would  have  been  possible 
to  make  a  deposit  hi  the  manner  you  mention.  A  letter  may  be 
compressed  into  a  thin  spiral  roll,  not  differing  much  in  shape  or 
bulk  from  a  large  knitting-needle,  and  in  this  form  it  might  be  inserted 
into  the  rung  of  a  chair,  for  example.  You  did  not  take  to  pieces  all 
the  chairs  ?  " 

"Certainly  not;  but  we  did  better — we  examined  the  rungs  of 
every  chair  in  the  hotel,  and,  indeed,  the  jointings  of  every  description 
of  furniture,  by  the  aid  of  a  most  powerful  microscope.  Had  there 
been  any  traces  of  recent  disturbance  we  should  not  have  failed  to 
detect  it  instantly.  A  single  gram  of  gimlet-dust,  for  example,  would 
have  been  as  obvious  as  an  apple.  Any  disorder  in  the  glueing — any 
unusual  gaping  in  the  joints — would  have  sufficed  to  insure  detection." 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  333 

"I  presume  you  looked  to  the  mirrors,  between  the  boards  and 
the  plates,  and  you  probed  the  beds  and  the  bed-clothes,  as  well  as 
the  curtains  and  carpets." 

"That  of  course;  and  when  we  had  absolutely  completed  every 
particle  of  the  furniture  in  this  way,  then  we  examined  the  house 
itself.  We  divided  its  entire  surface  into  compartments,  which  we 
numbered,  so  that  none  might  be  missed;  then  we  scrutinized 
each  individual  square  inch  throughout  the  premises,  including 
the  two  houses  immediately  adjoining,  with  the  microscope,  as 
before." 

"The  two  houses  adjoining!"  I  exclaimed;  "you  must  have  had 
a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"We  had;  but  the  reward  offered  is  prodigious." 

"You  include  the  grounds  about  the  houses?" 

"All  the  grounds  are  paved  with  brick.  They  gave  us  compara- 
tively little  trouble.  We  examined  the  moss  between  the  bricks,  and 
found  it  undisturbed." 

"You  looked  among  D 's  papers,  of  course,  and  into  the 

books  of  the  library  ?  " 

"Certainly;  we  opened  every  package  and  parcel;  we  not  only 
opened  every  book,  but  we  turned  over  every  leaf  in  each  volume, 
not  contenting  ourselves  with  a  mere  shake,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  some  of  our  police  officers.  We  also  measured  the  thickness  of 
every  book-cover,  with  the  most  accurate  admeasurement,  and  applied 
to  each  the  most  jealous  scrutiny  of  the  microscope.  Had  any  of  the 
bindings  been  recently  meddled  with,  it  would  have  been  utterly 
impossible  that  the  fact  should  have  escaped  observation.  Some  five 
or  six  volumes,  just  from  the  hands  of  the  binder,  we  carefully  probed, 
longitudinally,  with  the  needles." 

"You  explored  the  floors  beneath  the  carpets?" 

"Beyond  doubt.  We  removed  every  carpet,  and  examined  the 
boards  with  the  microscope." 

"And  the  paper  on  the  walls  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  looked  into  the  cellars?" 

"We  did." 

"Then,"  I  said,  "you  have  been  making  a  miscalculation,  and 
the  letter  is  not  upon  the  premises,  as  you  suppose." 


334  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"I  fear  you  are  right  there,"  said  the  Prefect.  "And  now, 
Dupin,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ?" 

"To  make  a  thorough  re-search  of  the  premises." 

"That  is  absolutely  needless,"  replied  G .  "I  am  not 

more  sure  that  I  breathe  than  I  am  that  the  letter  is  not  at  the  hotel." 

" I  have  no  better  advice  to  give  you,"  said  Dupin.  "You  have, 
of  course,  an  accurate  description  of  the  letter  ? " 

"Oh  yes!" — And  here  the  Prefect,  producing  a  memorandum- 
book,  proceeded  to  read  aloud  a  minute  account  of  the  internal,  and 
especially  of  the  external  appearance  of  the  missing  document.  Soon 
after  finishing  the  perusal  of  this  description,  he  took  his  departure, 
more  entirely  depressed  hi  spirits  than  I  had  ever  known  the  good 
gentleman  before. 

In  about  a  month  afterwards  he  paid  us  another  visit,  and  found 
us  occupied  very  nearly  as  before.  He  took  a  pipe  and  a  chair  and 
entered  into  some  ordinary  conversation.  At  length  I  said, — 

"Well,  but  G ,  what  of  the  purloined  letter  ?  I  presume  you 

have  at  last  made  up  your  mind  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  over- 
reaching the  Minister?" 

"  Confound  him,  say  I — yes;  I  made  the  re-examination,  however, 
as  Dupin  suggested;  but  it  was  all  labor  lost,  as  I  knew  it  would  be." 

"How  much  was  the  reward  offered,  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Dupin. 

"Why,  a  very  great  deal — a  very  liberal  reward — I  don't  like  to 
say  how  much,  precisely;  but  one  thing  I  will  say,  that  I  wouldn't 
mind  giving  my  individual  check  for  fifty  thousand  francs  to  any  one 
who  could  obtain  me  that  letter.  The  fact  is,  it  is  becoming  of  more 
and  more  importance  every  day;  and  the  reward  has  been  lately 
doubled.  If  it  were  trebled,  however,  I  could  do  no  more  than  I  have 
done." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Dupin,  drawlingly,  between  the  whirls  of  his 

meerschaum,  "I  really — think,  G ,  you  have  not  exerted  yourself 

— to  the  utmost  in  this  matter.  You  might — do  a  little  more,  I 
think,  eh?" 

"How? — in  what  way?" 

"Why — puff,  puff — you  might — puff,  puff — employ  counsel  in 
the  matter,  eh  ? — puff,  puff,  puff.  Do  you  remember  the  story  they 
tell  of  Abernethy  ?  " 

"No;  hang  Abernethy!" 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  335 


"To  be  sure!  hang  him  and  welcome.  But,  once  upon  a  time, 
a  certain  rich  miser  conceived  the  design  of  spunging  upon  this 
Abernethy  for  a  medical  opinion.  Getting  up,  for  this  purpose,  an 
ordinary  conversation  in  a  private  company,  he  insinuated  his  case 
to  the  physician,  as  that  of  an  imaginary  individual. 

'"We  will  suppose,'  said  the  miser,  'that  his  symptoms  are  such 
and  such;  now,  doctor,  what  would  you  have  directed  him  to  take?' 

"'Take!'  said  Abernethy,  'why,  take  advice,  to  be  sure.'" 

"But,"  said  the  Prefect,  a  little  discomposed,  "7  am  perfectly 
willing  to  take  advice,  and  to  pay  for  it.  I  would  really  give  fifty 
thousand  francs  to  any  one  who  would  aid  me  in  the  matter." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  Dupin,  opening  a  drawer,  and  producing 
a  check-book,  "you  may  as  well  fill  me  up  a  check  for  the  amount 
mentioned.  When  you  have  signed  it,  I  will  hand  you  the  letter." 

I  was  astounded.  The  Prefect  appeared  absolutely  thunder- 
stricken.  For  some  minutes  he  remained  speechless  and  motionless, 
looking  incredulously  at  my  friend  with  open  mouth,  and  eyes  that 
seemed  starting  from  their  sockets;  then,  apparently  recovering 
himself  hi  some  measure,  he  seized  a  pen,  and,  after  several  pauses 
and  vacant  stares,  finally  filled  up  and  signed  a  check  for  fifty  thou- 
sand francs,  and  handed  it  across  the  table  to  Dupin.  The  latter 
examined  it  carefully  and  deposited  it  in  his  pocket-book;  then, 
unlocking  an  escritoire,  took  thence  a  letter  and  gave  it  to  the  Prefect. 
This  functionary  grasped  it  in  a  perfect  agony  of  joy,  opened  it  with 
a  trembling  hand,  cast  a  rapid  glance  at  its  contents,  and  then, 
scrambling  and  struggling  to  the  door,  rushed  at  length  unceremoni- 
ously from  the  room  and  from  the  house,  without  having  uttered  a 
syllable  since  Dupin  had  requested  him  to  fill  up  the  check. 

When  he  had  gone,  my  friend  entered  into  some  explanations. 

"The  Parisian  police,"  he  said,  "are  exceedingly  able  hi  their 
way.  They  are  persevering,  ingenious,  cunning,  and  thoroughly 
versed  in  the  knowledge  which  their  duties  seem  chiefly  to  demand. 

Thus,  when  G detailed  to  us  his  mode  of  searching  the  premises 

at  the  Hotel  D ,  I  felt  entire  confidence  in  his  having  made  a  satis- 
factory investigation — so  far  as  his  labors  extended." 

"So  far  as  his  labors  extended?"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  said  Dupin.  "The  measures  adopted  were  not  only 
the  best  of  their  kind,  but  carried  out  to  absolute  perfection.  Had 


336  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  letter  been  deposited  within  the  range  of  their  search,  these  fellows 
would,  beyond  a  question,  have  found  it." 

I  merely  laughed — but  he  seemed  quite  serious  in  all  that  he  said. 

"The  measures,  then,"  he  continued,  "were  good  in  their  kind, 
and  well  executed;  their  defect  lay  in  their  being  inapplicable  to  the 
case,  and  to  the  man.  A  certain  set  of  highly  ingenious  resources 
are,  with  the  Prefect,  a  sort  of  Procrustean  bed,  to  which  he  forcibly 
adapts  his  designs.  But  he  perpetually  errs  by  being  too  deep  or 
too  shallow,  for  the  matter  in  hand;  and  many  a  schoolboy  is  a  better 
reasoner  than  he.  I  knew  one  about  eight  years  of  age,  whose  success 
at  guessing  in  the  game  of '  even  and  odd '  attracted  universal  admira- 
tion. This  game  is  simple,  and  is  played  with  marbles.  One  player 
holds  in  his  hand  a  number  of  these  toys,  and  demands  of  another 
whether  that  number  is  even  or  odd.  If  the  guess  is  right,  the  guesser 
wins  one;  if  wrong,  he  loses  one.  The  boy  to  whom  I  allude  won  all 
the  marbles  of  the  school.  Of  course  he  had  some  principle  of  guess- 
ing; and  this  lay  in  mere  observation  and  admeasurement  of  the 
astuteness  of  his  opponents.  For  example,  an  arrant  simpleton  is  his 
opponent,  and,  holding  up  his  closed  hand,  asks,  'are  they  even  or 
odd?'  Our  schoolboy  replies,  'odd,'  and  loses;  but  upon  the  second 
trial  he  wins,  for  he  then  says  to  himself,  'The  simpleton  had  them 
even  upon  the  first  trial,  and  his  amount  of  cunning  is  just  sufficient 
to  make  him  have  them  odd  upon  the  second;  I  will  therefore  guess 
odd;' — he  guesses  odd,  and  wins.  Now,  with  a  simpleton  a  degree 
above  the  first,  he  would  have  reasoned  thus:  'This  fellow  finds  that 
in  the  first  instance  I  guessed  odd,  and,  in  the  second,  he  will  propose 
to  himself,  upon  the  first  impulse,  a  simple  variation  from  even  to 
odd,  as  did  the  first  simpleton;  but  then  a  second  thought  will  sug- 
gest that  this  is  too  simple  a  variation,  and  finally  he  will  decide  upon 
putting  it  even  as  before.  I  will  therefore  guess  even;' — he  guesses 
even,  and  wins.  Now  this  mode  of  reasoning  in  the  schoolboy,  whom 
his  fellows  termed  'lucky,' — what,  in  its  last  analysis,  is  it?" 

"It  is  merely,"  I  said,  "an  identification  of  the  reasoner's  intellect 
with  that  of  his  opponent." 

"It  is,"  said  Dupin;  "and,  upon  inquiring  of  the  boy  by  what 
means  he  effected  the  thorough  identification  in  which  his  success 
consisted,  I  received  answer  as  follows:  'When  I  wish  to  find  out  how 
wise,  or  how  stupid,  or  how  good,  or  how  wicked  is  any  one,  or  what 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  337 


are  his  thoughts  at  the  moment,  I  fashion  the  expression  of  my  face, 
as  accurately  as  possible,  in  accordance  with  the  expression  of  his,  and 
then  wait  to  see  what  thoughts  or  sentiments  arise  in  my  mind  or 
heart,  as  if  to  match  or  correspond  with  the  expression.'  This 
response  of  the  schoolboy  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  spurious  pro- 
fundity which  has  been  attributed  to  Rochefoucault,  to  La  Bougive, 
to  Machiavelli,  and  to  Campanella." 

"And  the  identification,"  I  said,  "of  the  reasoner's  intellect  with 
that  of  his  opponent,  depends,  if  I  understand  you  aright,  upon  the 
accuracy  with  which  the  opponent's  intellect  is  admeasured." 

"For  its  practical  value  it  depends  upon  this,"  replied  Dupin; 
"and  the  Prefect  and  his  cohort  fail  so  frequently,  first,  by  default 
of  this  identification,  and,  secondly,  by  ill-admeasurement,  or  rather 
through  non-admeasurement,  of  the  intellect  with  which  they  are 
engaged.  They  consider  only  their  own  ideas  of  ingenuity;  and,  in 
searching  for  anything  hidden,  advert  only  to  the  modes  in  which  they 
would  have  hidden  it.  They  are  right  in  this  much — that  their  own 
ingenuity  is  a  faithful  representative  of  that  of  the  mass;  but  when  the 
cunning  of  the  individual  felon  is  diverse  in  character  from  their  own, 
the  felon  foils  them,  of  course.  This  always  happens  when  it  is  above 
their  own,  and  very  usually  when  it  is  below.  They  have  no  variation 
of  principle  in  their  investigations;  at  best,  when  urged  by  some 
unusual  emergency — by  some  extraordinary  reward — they  extend  or 
exaggerate  their  old  modes  of  practice,  without  touching  their  prin- 
ciples. What,  for  example,  in  this  case  of  D ,  has  been  done  to 

vary  the  principle  of  action  ?  What  is  all  this  boring,  and  probing, 
and  sounding,  and  scrutinizing  with  the  microscope,  and  dividing  the 
surface  of  the  building  into  registered  square  inches — what  is  it  all 
but  an  exaggeration  of  the  application  of  the  one  principle  or  set  of 
principles  of  search,  which  are  based  upon  the  one  set  of  notions 
regarding  human  ingenuity,  to  which  the  Prefect,  in  the  long  routine 
of  his  duty,  has  been  accustomed  ?  Do  you  not  see  he  has  taken  it 
for  granted  that  all  men  proceed  to  conceal  a  letter, — not  exactly 
in  a  gimlet-hole  bored  in  a  chair-leg — but,  at  least,  in  some  out-of-the- 
way  hole  or  corner  suggested  by  the  same  tenor  of  thought  which 
would  urge  a  man  to  secrete  a  letter  in  a  gimlet-hole  bored  in  a  chair- 
leg?  And  do  you  not  see  also,  that  such  recherches  nooks  for  con- 
cealment are  adapted  only  for  ordinary  occasions,  and  would  be 


338  AMERICAN  PROSE 


adopted  only  by  ordinary  intellects  ?  for,  in  all  cases  of  concealment, 
a  disposal  of  the  article  concealed — a  disposal  of  it  in  this  recherche 
manner, — is,  hi  the  very  first  instance,  presumable  and  presumed; 
and  thus  its  discovery  depends,  not  at  ah1  upon  the  acumen,  but 
altogether  upon  the  mere  care,  patience,  and  determination  of  the 
seekers;  and  where  the  case  is  of  importance — or,  what  amounts  to 
the  same  thing  in  the  policial  eyes,  when  the  reward  is  of  magnitude, — 
the  qualities  in  question  have  never  been  known  to  fail.  You  will 
now  understand  what  I  meant  in  suggesting  that,  had  the  purloined 
letter  been  hidden  any  where  within  the  limits  of  the  Prefect's 
examination — in  other  words,  had  the  principle  of  its  concealment 
been  comprehended  within  the  principles  of  the  Prefect — its  discovery 
would  have  been  a  matter  altogether  beyond  question.  This  func- 
tionary, however,  has  been  thoroughly  mystified;  and  the  remote 
source  of  his  defeat  lies  in  the  supposition  that  the  Minister  is  a  fool, 
because  he  has  acquired  renown  as  a  poet.  All  fools  are  poets;  this 
the  Prefect  feels;  and  he  is  merely  guilty  of  a  non  distributio  medii 
in  thence  inferring  that  all  poets  are  fools." 

"  But  is  this  really  the  poet  ?  "  I  asked.  "  There  are  two  brothers, 
I  know;  and  both  have  attained  reputation  in  letters.  The  Minister 
I  believe  has  written  learnedly  on  the  Differential  Calculus.  He  is  a 
mathematician,  and  no  poet." 

"You  are  mistaken;  I  know  him  well;  he  is  both.  As  poet  and 
mathematician,  he  would  reason  well;  as  mere  mathematician  he 
could  not  have  reasoned  at  all,  and  thus  would  have  been  at  the  mercy 
of  the  Prefect." 

"You  surprise  me,"  I  said,  "by  these  opinions,  which  have  been 
contradicted  by  the  voice  of  the  world.  You  do  not  mean  to  set  at 
naught  the  well-digested  idea  of  centuries.  The  mathematical  reason 
has  long  been  regarded  as  the  reason  par  excellence." 

"'Ily  ad  parier,"  replied  Dupin,  quoting  from  Chamfort,  "'que 
toute  idie  publique,  toute  convention  refue,  est  une  soltise,  car  die  a  con- 
venue  au  plus  grand  nombre.'  The  mathematicians,  I  grant  you, 
have  done  their  best  to  promulgate  the  popular  error  to  which  you 
allude,  and  which  is  none  the  less  an  error  for  its  promulgation  as 
truth.  With  an  art  worthy  a  better  cause,  for  example,  they  have 
insinuated  the  term  'analysis'  into  application  to  algebra.  The 
French  are  the  originators  of  this  particular  deception;  but  if  a  term 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  339 

is  of  any  importance — if  words  derive  any  value  from  applicability — 
then  '  analysis '  conveys  '  algebra '  about  as  much  as,  in  Latin, '  ambitus' 
implies  'ambition,'  'religio'  'religion,'  or  'homines  honesti,'  a  set  of 
honorable  men." 

"You  have  a  quarrel  on  hand,  I  see,"  said  I,  "with  some  of  the 
algebraists  of  Paris;  but  proceed." 

"I  dispute  the  availability,  and  thus  the  value,  of  that  reason 
which  is  cultivated  in  any  especial  form  other  than  the  abstractly 
logical.  I  dispute,  in  particular,  the  reason  educed  by  mathematical 
study.  The  mathematics  are  the  science  of  form  and  quantity; 
mathematical  reasoning  is  merely  logic  applied  to  observation  upon 
form  and  quantity.  The  great  error  lies  in  supposing  that  even  the 
truths  of  what  is  called  pure  algebra,  are  abstract  or  general  truths. 
And  this  error  is  so  egregious  that  I  am  confounded  at  the  universality 
with  which  it  has  been  received.  Mathematical  axioms  are  not 
axioms  of  general  truth.  What  is  true  of  relation — of  form  and  quan- 
tity— is  often  grossly  false  in  regard  to  morals,  for  example.  In  this 
latter  science  it  is  very  usually  untrue  that  the  aggregated  parts  are 
equal  to  the  whole.  In  chemistry  also  the  axiom  fails.  In  the  con- 
sideration of  motive  it  fails;  for  two  motives,  each  of  a  given  value, 
have  not,  necessarily,  a  value  when  united,  equal  to  the  sum  of  their 
values  apart.  There  are  numerous  other  mathematical  truths  which 
are  only  truths  within  the  limits  of  relation.  But  the  mathematician 
argues,  from  his  finite  truths,  through  habit,  as  if  they  were  of  an 
absolutely  general  applicability — as  the  world  indeed  imagines  them 
to  be.  Bryant,  in  his  very  learned  'Mythology,'  mentions  an  analo- 
gous source  of  error,  when  he  says  that  'although  the  Pagan  fables  are 
not  believed,  yet  we  forget  ourselves  continually,  and  make  inferences 
from  them  as  existing  realities.'  With  the  algebraists,  however,  who 
are  Pagans  themselves,  the  '  Pagan  fables '  are  believed,  and  the  infer- 
ences are  made,  not  so  much  through  lapse  of  memory,  as  through  an 
unaccountable  addling  of  the  brains.  In  short,  I  never  yet  en- 
countered the  mere  mathematician  who  could  be  trusted  out  of 
equal  roots,  or  one  who  did  not  clandestinely  hold  it  as  a  point  of  his 
faith  that  x?+px  was  absolutely  and  unconditionally  equal  to  q. 
Say  to  one  of  these  gentlemen,  by  way  of  experiment,  if  you  please, 
that  you  believe  occasions  may  occur  where  x2-\-px  is  not  altogether 
equal  to  q,  and,  having  made  him  understand  what  you  mean,  get 


340  AMERICAN  PROSE 


out  of  his  reach  as  speedily  as  convenient,  for,  beyond  doubt,  he  will 
endeavor  to  knock  you  down. 

"I  mean  to  say,"  continued  Dupiri,  while  I  merely  laughed  at  his 
last  observations,  "that  if  the  Minister  had  been  no  more  than  a 
mathematician,  the  Prefect  would  have  been  under  no  necessity  of 
giving  me  this  check.  I  knew  him,  however,  as  both  mathematician 
and  poet;  and  my  measures  were  adapted  to  his  capacity,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  circumstances  by  which  he  was  surrounded.  I  knew 
him  as  courtier,  too,  and  as  a  bold  intriguant.  Such  a  man,  I  con- 
sidered, could  not  fail  to  be  aware  of  the  ordinary  policial  modes 
of  action.  He  could  not  have  failed  to  anticipate — and  events  have 
proved  that  he  did  not  fail  to  anticipate — the  waylayings  to  which 
he  was  subjected.  He  must  have  foreseen,  I  reflected,  the  secret 
investigations  of  his  premises.  His  frequent  absences  from  home 
at  night,  which  were  hailed  by  the  Prefect  as  certain  aids  to  his  suc- 
cess, I  regarded  only  as  ruses,  to  afford  opportunity  for  thorough 
search  to  the  police,  and  thus  the  sooner  to  impress  them  with  the 

conviction  to  which  G ,  in  fact,  did  finally  arrive — the  conviction 

that  the  letter  was  not  upon  the  premises.  I  felt,  also,  that  the  whole 
train  of  thought,  which  I  was  at  some  pains  in  detailing  to  you  just 
now,  concerning  the  invariable  principle  of  policial  action  in  searches 
for  articles  concealed — I  felt  that  this  whole  train  of  thought  would 
necessarily  pass  through  the  mind  of  the  Minister.  It  would  impera- 
tively lead  him  to  despise  all  the  ordinary  nooks  of  concealment.  He 
could  not,  I  reflected,  be  so  weak  as  not  to  see  that  the  most  intricate 
and  remote  recess  of  his  hotel  would  be  as  open  as  his  commonest 
closets  to  the  eyes,  to  the  probes,  to  the  gimlets,  and  to  the  micro- 
scopes of  the  Prefect.  I  saw,  in  fine,  that  he  would  be  driven,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  to  simplicity,  if  not  deliberately  induced  to  it  as 
a  matter  of  choice.  You  will  remember,  perhaps,  how  desperately 
the  Prefect  laughed  when  I  suggested,  upon  our  first  interview,  that 
it  was  just  possible  this  mystery  troubled  him  so  much  on  account  of 
its  being  so  very  self-evident." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  remember  his  merriment  well.  I  really  thought 
he  would  have  fallen  into  convulsions." 

"The  material  world,"  continued  Dupin,  "abounds  with  very 
strict  analogies  to  the  immaterial;  and  thus  some  color  of  truth  has 
been  given  to  the  rhetorical  dogma,  that  metaphor,  or  simile,  may  be 


EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE  341 


made  to  strengthen  an  argument,  as  well  as  to  embellish  a  descrip- 
tion. The  principle  of  the  vis  inertia,  for  example,  seems  to  be  identi- 
cal in  physics  and  metaphysics.  It  is  not  more  true  in  the  former, 
that  a  large  body  is  with  more  difficulty  set  in  motion  than  a  smaller 
one,  and  that  its  subsequent  momentum  is  commensurate  with  this 
difficulty,  than  it  is,  in  the  latter,  that  intellects  of  the  vaster  capacity, 
while  more  forcible,  more  constant,  and  more  eventful  in  their 
movements  than  those  of  inferior  grade,  are  yet  the  less  readily 
moved,  and  more  embarrassed  and  full  of  hesitation  in  the  first 
few  steps  of  their  progress.  Again:  have  you  ever  noticed  which 
of  the  street  signs,  over  the  shop-doors,  are  the  most  attractive  of 
attention?" 

"I  have  never  given  the  matter  a  thought,"  I  said. 

"There  is  a  game  of  puzzles,"  he  resumed,  "which  is  played  upon 
a  map.  One  party  playing  requires  another  to  find  a  given  word — 
the  name  of  town,  river,  state  or  empire — any  word,  in  short,  upon 
the  motley  and  perplexed  surface  of  the  chart.  A  novice  in  the  game 
generally  seeks  to  embarrass  his  opponents  by  giving  them  the  most 
minutely  lettered  names;  but  the  adept  selects  such  words  as  stretch, 
in  large  characters,  from  one  end  of  the  chart  to  the  other.  These, 
like  the  over-largely  lettered  signs  and  placards  of  the  street,  escape 
observation  by  dint  of  being  excessively  obvious;  and  here  the  physi- 
cal oversight  is  precisely  analogous  with  the  moral  inapprehension 
by  which  the  intellect  suffers  to  pass  unnoticed  those  considerations 
which  are  too  obtrusively  and  too  palpably  self-evident.  But  this 
is  a  point,  it  appears,  somewhat  above  or  beneath  the  understanding 
of  the  Prefect.  He  never  once  thought  it  probable,  or  possible,  that 
the  Minister  had  deposited  the  letter  immediately  beneath  the  nose 
of  the  whole  world,  by  way  of  best  preventing  any  portion  of  that 
world  from  perceiving  it. 

"But  the  more  I  reflected  upon  the  daring,  dashing,  and  dis- 
criminating ingenuity  of  D ;  upon  the  fact  that  the  document 

must  always  have  been  at  hand,  if  he  intended  to  use  it  to  good  pur- 
pose; and  upon  the  decisive  evidence,  obtained  by  the  Prefect, 
that  it  was  not  hidden  within  the  limits  of  that  dignitary's  ordinary 
search — the  more  satisfied  I  became  that,  to  conceal  this  letter,  the 
minister  had  resorted  to  the  comprehensive  and  sagacious  expedient 
of  not  attempting  to  conceal  it  at  all. 


342  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"Full  of  these  ideas,  I  prepared  myself  with  a  pair  of  green 
spectacles,  and  called  one  fine  morning,  quite  by  accident,  at  the 

Ministerial  hotel.  I  found  D at  home,  yawning,  lounging,  and 

dawdling,  as  usual,  and  pretending  to  be  hi  the  last  extremity  of 
ennui.  He  is,  perhaps,  the  most  really  energetic  human  being  now 
alive — but  that  is  only  when  nobody  sees  him. 

"To  be  even  with  him,  I  complained  of  my  weak  eyes,  and 
lamented  the  necessity  of  the  spectacles,  under  cover  of  which  I 
cautiously  and  thoroughly  surveyed  the  whole  apartment,  while 
seemingly  intent  only  upon  the  conversation  of  my  host. 

"I  paid  especial  attention  to  a  large  writing-table  near  which  he 
sat,  and  upon  which  lay  confusedly,  some  miscellaneous  letters  and 
other  papers,  with  one  or  two  musical  instruments  and  a  few  books. 
Here,  however,  after  a  long  and  very  deliberate  scrutiny,  I  saw  nothing 
to  excite  particular  suspicion. 

"At  length  my  eyes,  in  going  the  circuit  of  the  room,  fell  upon  a 
trumpery  fillagree  card-rack  of  pasteboard,  that  hung  dangling  by  a 
dirty  blue  ribbon,  from  a  little  brass  knob  just  beneath  the  middle 
of  the  mantel-piece.  In  this  rack,  which  had  three  or  four  compart- 
ments, were  five  or  six  visiting  cards  and  a  solitary  letter.  This  last 
was  much  soiled  and  crumpled.  It  was  torn  nearly  in  two,  across 
the  middle — as  if  a  design,  in  the  first  instance,  to  tear  it  entirely 
up  as  worthless,  had  been  altered,  or  stayed,  in  the  second.  It  had 

a  large  black  seal,  bearing  the  D cipher  very  conspicuously,  and 

was  addressed,  in  a  diminutive  female  hand,  to  D ,  the  minister, 

himself.  It  was  thrust  carelessly,  and  even,  as  it  seemed,  contemptu- 
ously, into  one  of  the  uppermost  divisions  of  the  rack. 

"No  sooner  had  I  glanced  at  this  letter,  than  I  concluded  it  to 
be  that  of  which  I  was  in  search.  To  be  sure,  it  was,  to  all  appearance, 
radically  different  from  the  one  of  which  the  Prefect  had  read  us  so 
minute  a  description.  Here  the  seal  was  large  and  black,  with  the 

D cipher;  there  it  was  small  and  red,  with  the  ducal  arms  of  the 

S family.  Here  the  address,  to  the  Minister,  was  diminutive 

and  feminine;  there  the  superscription,  to  a  certain  royal  personage, 
was  markedly  bold  and  decided;  the  size  alone  formed  a  point  of 
correspondence.  But,  then,  the  radicalness  of  these  differences, 
which  was  excessive;  the  dirt,  the  soiled  and  torn  condition  of  the 
paper,  so  inconsistent  with  the  true  methodical  habits  of  D ,  and 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  343 


so  suggestive  of  a  design  to  delude  the  beholder  into  an  idea  of  the 
worthlessness  of  the  document;  these  things,  together  with  the  hyper- 
obtrusive  situation  of  this  document,  full  in  the  view  of  every  visiter, 
and  thus  exactly  hi  accordance  with  the  conclusions  to  which  I  had 
previously  arrived;  these  things,  I  say,  were  strongly  corroborative 
of  suspicion,  in  one  who  came  with  the  intention  to  suspect. 

"I  protracted  my  visit  as  long  as  possible,  and,  while  I  main- 
tained a  most  animated  discussion  with  the  Minister,  upon  a  topic 
which  I  knew  well  had  never  failed  to  interest  and  excite  him,  I 
kept  my  attention  really  riveted  upon  the  letter.  In  this  examina- 
tion, I  committed  to  memory  its  external  appearance  and  arrangement 
in  the  rack;  and  also  fell,  at  length,  upon  a  discovery  which  set  at 
rest  whatever  trivial  doubt  I  might  have  entertained.  In  scrutinizing 
the  edges  of  the  paper,  I  observed  them  to  be  more  chafed  than  seemed 
necessary.  They  presented  the  broken  appearance  which  is  mani- 
fested when  a  stiff  paper,  having  been  once  folded  and  pressed  with  a 
folder,  is  refolded  in  a  reversed  direction,  in  the  same  creases  or  edges 
which  had  formed  the  original  fold.  This  discovery  was  sufficient. 
It  was  clear  to  me  that  the  letter  had  been  turned,  as  a  glove,  inside 
out,  re-directed,  and  re-sealed.  I  bade  the  Minister  good  morning, 
and  took  my  departure  at  once,  leaving  a  gold  snuff-box  upon  the 
table. 

"The  next  morning  I  called  for  the  snuff-box,  when  we  resumed, 
quite  eagerly,  the  conversation  of  the  preceding  day.  While  thus 
engaged,  however,  a  loud  report,  as  if  of  a  pistol,  was  heard  imme- 
diately beneath  the  windows  of  the  hotel,  and  was  succeeded  by  a 
series  of  fearful  screams,  and  the  shoutings  of  a  terrified  mob.  D — 
rushed  to  a  casement,  threw  it  open,  and  looked  out.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  stepped  to  the  card-rack,  took  the  letter,  put  it  in  my  pocket, 
and  replaced  it  by  a  foe-simile  (so  far  as  regards  externals)  which  I 

had  carefully  prepared  at  my  lodgings — imitating  the  D cipher, 

very  readily,  by  means  of  a  seal  formed  of  bread. 

"The  disturbance  in  the  street  had  been  occasioned  by  the  frantic 
behavior  of  a  man  with  a  musket.  He  had  fired  it  among  a  crowd 
of  women  and  children.  It  proved,  however,  to  have  been  without 
ball,  and  the  fellow  was  suffered  to  go  his  way  as  a  lunatic  or  a  drunk- 
ard. When  he  had  gone,  D came  from  the  window,  whither  I 

had  followed  him  immediately  upon  securing  the  object  in  view. 


344  AMERICAN  PROSE 

Soon  afterwards  I  bade  him  farewell.  The  pretended  lunatic  was  a 
man  in  my  own  pay." 

"But  what  purpose  had  you,"  I  asked,  "in  replacing  the  letter 
by  a  fac-simile?  Would  it  not  have  been  better,  at  the  first  visit, 
to  have  seized  it  openly,  and  departed  ?  " 

"D ,"  replied  Dupin,  "is  a  desperate  man,  and  a  man  of 

nerve.  His  hotel,  too,  is  not  without  attendants  devoted  to  his 
interests.  Had  I  made  the  wild  attempt  you  suggest,  I  might 
never  have  left  the  Ministerial  presence  alive.  The  good  people  of 
Paris  might  have  heard  of  me  no  more.  But  I  had  an  object  apart 
from  these  considerations.  You  know  my  political  prepossessions. 
In  this  matter,  I  act  as  a  partisan  of  the  lady  concerned.  For 
eighteen  months  the  Minister  has  had  her  in  his  power.  She  has  now 
him  in  hers — since,  being  unaware  that  the  letter  is  not  in  his  posses- 
sion, he  will  proceed  with  his  exactions  as  if  it  was.  Thus  will  he 
inevitably  commit  himself,  at  once,  to  his  political  destruction. 
His  downfall,  too,  will  not  be  more  precipitate  than  awkward.  It 
is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  the  facilis  descensus  Averni;  but  in  all 
kinds  of  climbing,  as  Catalan!  said  of  singing,  it  is  far  more  easy  to 
get  up  than  to  come  down.  In  the  present  instance  I  have  no  sym- 
pathy— at  least  no  pity — for  him  who  descends.  He  is  that  monstrum 
horrendum,  an  unprincipled  man  of  genius.  I  confess,  however, 
that  I  should  like  very  well  to  know  the  precise  character  of  his 
thoughts,  when,  being  defied  by  her  whom  the  Prefect  terms  'a  certain 
personage,'  he  is  reduced  to  opening  the  letter  which  I  left  for  him 
in  the  card-rack." 

"How ?  did  you  put  any  thing  particular  in  it  ?" 

"Why — it  did  not  seem  altogether  right  to  leave  the  interior 

blank — that  would  have  been  insulting.  D ,  at  Vienna  once, 

did  me  an  evil  turn,  which  I  told  him,  quite  good-humoredly,  that 
I  should  remember.  So,  as  I  knew  he  would  feel  some  curiosity  in 
regard  to  the  identity  of  the  person  who  had  outwitted  him,  I  thought 
it  a  pity  not  to  give  him  a  clew.  He  is  well  acquainted  with  my  MS., 
and  I  just  copied  into  the  middle  of  the  blank  sheet  the  words — 

Un  dessein  sifuneste, 

S'il  n'est  digne  d'Atrte,  est  digne  de  Thyeste. 

They  are  to  be  found  in  Crebillon's  'A tree.'" 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  345 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  GENTLEMEN, 

I  greet  you  on  the  recommencement  of  our  literary  year.  Our 
anniversary  is  one  of  hope,  and,  perhaps,  not  enough  of  labor.  We 
do  not  meet  for  games  of  strength  or  skill,  for  the  recitation  of  his- 
tories, tragedies,  and  odes,  like  the  ancient  Greeks;  for  parliaments 
of  love  and  poesy,  like  the  Troubadours ;  nor  for  the  advancement  of 
science,  like  our  contemporaries  in  the  British  and  European  capitals. 
Thus  far,  our  holiday  has  been  simply  a  friendly  sign  of  the  survival 
of  the  love  of  letters  amongst  a  people  too  busy  to  give  to  letters  any 
more.  As  such,  it  is  precious  as  the  sign  of  an  indestructible  instinct. 
Perhaps  the  time  is  already  come,  when  it  ought  to  be,  and  will  be, 
something  else;  when  the  sluggard  intellect  of  this  continent  will 
look  from  under  its  iron  lids,  and  fill  the  postponed  expectation  of  the 
world  with  something  better  than  the  exertions  of  mechanical  skill. 
Our  day  of  dependence,  our  long  apprenticeship  to  the  learning  of 
other  lands,  draws  to  a  close.  The  millions  that  around  us  are  rush- 
ing into  life,  cannot  always  be  fed  on  the  sere  remains  of  foreign  har- 
vests. Events,  actions  arise,  that  must  be  sung,  that  will  sing 
themselves.  Who  can  doubt,  that  poetry  will  revive  and  lead  in  a 
new  age,  as  the  star  in  the  constellation  Harp,  which  now  flames  in 
our  zenith,  astronomers  announce,  shall  one  day  be  the  pole-star  for 
a  thousand  years  ? 

In  this  hope,  I  accept  the  topic  which  not  only  usage,  but  the 
nature  of  our  association,  seem  to  prescribe  to  this  day, — the  AMERI- 
CAN SCHOLAR.  Year  by  year,  we  come  up  hither  to  read  one  more 
chapter  of  his  biography.  Let  us  inquire  what  light  new  days  and 
events  have  thrown  on  his  character,  and  his  hopes. 

It  is  one  of  those  fables,  which,  out  of  an  unknown  antiquity,  con- 
vey an  unlooked-for  wisdom,  that  the  gods,  in  the  beginning,  divided 
Man  into  men,  that  he  might  be  more  helpful  to  himself ;  just  as  the 
hand  was  divided  into  fingers,  the  better  to  answer  its  end. 

The  old  fable  covers  a  doctrine  ever  new  and  sublime;  that 
there  is  One  Man, — present  to  all  particular  men  only  partially,  or 
through  one  faculty;  and  that  you  must  take  the  whole  society  to 


346  AMERICAN  PROSE 


find  the  whole  man.  Man  is  not  a  farmer,  or  a  professor,  or  an  engi- 
neer, but  he  is  all.  Man  is  priest,  and  scholar,  and  statesman,  and 
producer,  and  soldier.  In  the  divided  or  social  state,  these  functions 
are  parcelled  out  to  individuals,  each  of  whom  aims  to  do  his  stint 
of  the  joint  work,  whilst  each  other  performs  his.  The  fable  implies, 
that  the  individual,  to  possess  himself,  must  sometimes  return  from 
his  own  labor  to  embrace  all  the  other  laborers.  But,  unfortunately, 
this  original  unit,  this  fountain  of  power,  has  been  so  distributed  to 
multitudes,  has  been  so  minutely  subdivided  and  peddled  out,  that 
it  is  spilled  into  drops,  and  cannot  be  gathered.  The  state  of  society 
is  one  in  which  the  members  have  suffered  amputation  from  the 
trunk,  and  strut  about  so  many  walking  monsters, — a  good  finger, 
a  neck,  a  stomach,  an  elbow,  but  never  a  man. 

Man  is  thus  metamorphosed  into  a  thing,  into  many  things. 
The  planter,  who  is  Man  sent  out  into  the  field  to  gather  food,  is 
seldom  cheered  by  any  idea  of  the  true  dignity  of  his  ministry.  He 
sees  his  bushel  and  his  cart,  and  nothing  beyond,  and  sinks  into  the 
farmer,  instead  of  Man  on  the  farm.  The  tradesman  scarcely  ever 
gives  an  ideal  worth  to  his  work,  but  is  ridden  by  the  routine  of  his 
craft,  and  the  soul  is  subject  to  dollars.  The  priest  becomes  a  form; 
the  attorney,  a  statute-book;  the  mechanic,  a  machine;  the  sailor, 
a  rope  of  the  ship. 

In  this  distribution  of  functions,  the  scholar  is  the  delegated 
intellect.  In  the  right  state,  he  is  Man  Thinking.  In  the  degener- 
ate state,  when  the  victim  of  society,  he  tends  to  become  a  mere 
thinker,  or,  still  worse,  the  parrot  of  other  men's  thinking. 

In  this  view  of  him,  as  Man  Thinking,  the  theory  of  his  office 
is  contained.  Him  Nature  solicits  with  all  her  placid,  all  her  moni- 
tory pictures;  him  the  past  instructs;  him  the  future  invites.  Is 
not,  indeed,  every  man  a  student,  and  do  not  all  things  exist  for 
the  student's  behoof  ?  And,  finally,  is  not  the  true  scholar  the  only 
true  master?  But  the  old  oracle  said,  "All  things  have  two 
handles:  beware  of  the  wrong  one."  In  life,  too  often,  the  scholar 
errs  with  mankind  and  forfeits  his  privilege.  Let  us  see  him  in 
his  school,  and  consider  him  hi  reference  to  the  main  influences  he 
receives. 

I.  The  first  hi  tune  and  the  first  in  importance  of  the  influences 
upon  the  mind  is  that  of  nature.  Every  day,  the  sun;  and,  after 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  347 

sunset,  night  and  her  stars.  Ever  the  winds  blow;  ever  the  grass 
grows.  Every  day,  men  and  women,  conversing,  beholding  and 
beholden.  The  scholar  is  he  of  all  men  whom  this  spectacle  most 
engages.  He  must  settle  its  value  in  his  mind.  What  is  nature  to 
him?  There  is  never  a  beginning,  there  is  never  an  end,  to  the 
inexplicable  continuity  of  this  web  of  God,  but  always  circular  power 
returning  into  itself.  Therein  it  resembles  his  own  spirit,  whose 
beginning,  whose  ending,  he  never  can  find, — so  entire,  so  boundless. 
Far,  too,  as  her  splendors  shine,  system  on  system  shooting  like  rays, 
upward,  downward,  without  centre,  without  circumference, — in  the 
mass  and  in  the  particle,  nature  hastens  to  render  account  of  herself 
to  the  mind.  Classification  begins.  To  the  young  mind,  every 
thing  is  individual,  stands  by  itself.  By  and  by,  it  finds  how  to  join 
two  things,  and  see  in  them  one  nature;  then  three,  then  three  thou- 
sand; and  so,  tyrannized  over  by  its  own  unifying  instinct,  it  goes 
on  tying  things  together,  diminishing  anomalies,  discovering  roots 
running  under  ground,  whereby  contrary  and  remote  things  cohere, 
and  flower  out  from  one  stem.  It  presently  learns,  that,  since  the  dawn 
of  history,  there  has  been  a  constant  accumulation  and  classifying  of 
facts.  But  what  is  classification  but  the  perceiving  that  these  objects 
are  not  chaotic,  and  are  not  foreign,  but  have  a  law  which  is  also  a 
law  of  the  human  mind  ?  The  astronomer  discovers  that  geometry, 
a  pure  abstraction  of  the  human  mind,  is  the  measure  of  planetary 
motion.  The  chemist  finds  proportions  and  intelligible  method 
throughout  matter;  and  science  is  nothing  but  the  finding  of 
analogy,  identity,  in  the  most  remote  parts.  The  ambitious  soul  sits 
down  before  each  refractory  fact;  one  after  another,  reduces  all 
strange  constitutions,  all  new  powers,  to  their  class  and  their  law,  and 
goes  on  for  ever  to  animate  the  last  fibre  of  organization,  the  out- 
skirts of  nature,  by  insight. 

Thus  to  him,  to  this  school-boy  under  the  bending  dome  of  day, 
is  suggested,  that  he  and  it  proceed  from  one  root;  one  is  leaf  and  one 
is  flower;  relation,  sympathy,  stirring  in  every  vein.  And  what  is 
that  root  ?  Is  not  that  the  soul  of  his  soul  ?  A  thought  too  bold, — 
a  dream  too  wild.  Yet  when  this  spiritual  light  shall  have  revealed 
the  law  of  more  earthly  natures, — when  he  has  learned  to  worship 
the  soul,  and  to  see  that  the  natural  philosophy  that  now  is,  is  only 
the  first  gropings  of  its  gigantic  hand,  he  shall  look  forward  to  an  ever 


348  AMERICAN  PROSE 


expanding  knowledge  as  to  a  becoming  creator.  He  shall  see,  that 
nature  is  the  opposite  of  the  soul,  answering  to  it  part  for  part.  One 
is  seal,  and  one  is  print.  Its  beauty  is  the  beauty  of  his  own  mind. 
Its  laws  are  the  laws  of  his  own  mind.  Nature  then  becomes  to  him 
the  measure  of  his  attainments.  So  much  of  nature  as  he  is  ignorant 
of,  so  much  of  his  own  mind  does  he  not  yet  possess.  And,  in  fine, 
the  ancient  precept,  "Know  thyself,"  and  the  modern  precept, 
"Study  nature,"  become  at  last  one  maxim. 

II.  The  next  great  influence  into  the  spirit  of  the  scholar,  is,  the 
mind  of  the  Past, — in  whatever  form,  whether  of  literature,  of  art, 
of  institutions,  that  mind  is  inscribed.  Books  are  the  best  type  of 
the  influence  of  the  past,  and  perhaps  we  shall  get  at  the  truth, — 
learn  the  amount  of  this  influence  more  conveniently, — by  consider- 
ing their  value  alone. 

The  theory  of  books  is  noble.  The  scholar  of  the  first  age 
received  into  him  the  world  around;  brooded  thereon;  gave  it  the 
new  arrangement  of  his  own  mind,  and  uttered  it  again.  It  came  into 
him,  life;  it  went  out  from  him,  truth.  It  came  to  him,  short-lived 
actions;  it  went  out  from  him,  immortal  thoughts.  It  came  to  him, 
business;  it  went  from  him,  poetry.  It  was  dead  fact;  now,  it  is 
quick  thought.  It  can  stand,  and  it  can  go.  It  now  endures,  it  now 
flies,  it  now  inspires.  Precisely  in  proportion  to  the  depth  of  mind 
from  which  it  issued,  so  high  does  it  soar,  so  long  does  it  sing. 

Or,  I  might  say,  it  depends  on  how  far  the  process  had  gone,  of 
transmuting  life  into  truth.  In  proportion  to  the  completeness  of 
the  distillation,  so  will  the  purity  and  imperishableness  of  the  product 
be.  But  none  is  quite  perfect.  As  no  air-pump  can  by  any  means 
make  a  perfect  vacuum,  so  neither  can  any  artist  entirely  exclude 
the  conventional,  the  local,  the  perishable  from  his  book,  or  write 
a  book  of  pure  thought,  that  shall  be  as  efficient,  in  all  respects,  to  a 
remote  posterity,  as  to  cotemporaries,  or  rather  to  the  second 
age.  Each  age,  it  is  found,  must  write  its  own  books;  or  rather,  each 
generation  for  the  next  succeeding.  The  books  of  an  older  period 
will  not  fit  this. 

Yet  hence  arises  a  grave  mischief.  The  sacredness  which  attaches 
to  the  act  of  creation, — the  act  of  thought, — is  transferred  to  the 
record.  The  poet  chanting,  was  felt  to  be  a  divine  man:  henceforth 
the  chant  is  divine  also.  The  writer  was  a  just  and  wise  spirit: 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  349 

henceforward  it  is  settled,  the  book  is  perfect;  as  love  of  the  hero 
corrupts  into  worship  of  his  statue.  Instantly,  the  book  becomes 
noxious:  the  guide  is  a  tyrant.  The  sluggish  and  perverted  mind  of 
the  multitude,  slow  to  open  to  the  incursions  of  Reason,  having  once 
so  opened,  having  once  received  this  book,  stands  upon  it,  and  makes 
an  outcry,  if  it  is  disparaged.  Colleges  are  built  on  it.  Books  are 
written  on  it  by  thinkers,  not  by  Man  Thinking;  by  men  of  talent, 
that  is,  who  start  wrong,  who  set  out  from  accepted  dogmas,  not 
from  their  own  sight  of  principles.  Meek  young  men  grow  up  in 
libraries,  believing  it  their  duty  to  accept  the  views,  which  Cicero, 
which  Locke,  which  Bacon,  have  given;  forgetful  that  Cicero,  Locke, 
and  Bacon  were  only  young  men  in  libraries,  when  they  wrote  these 
books. 

Hence,  instead  of  Man  Thinking,  we  have  the  bookworm. 
Hence,  the  book-learned  class,  who  value  books,  as  such;  not  as 
related  to  nature  and  the  human  constitution,  but  as  making  a  sort 
of  Third  Estate  with  the  world  and  the  soul.  Hence  the  restorers  of 
readings,  the  emendators,  the  bibliomaniacs  of  all  degrees. 

Books  are  the  best  of  things,  well  used;  abused,  among  the  worst. 
What  is  the  right  use  ?  What  is  the  one  end,  which  all  means  go  to 
effect?  They  are  for  nothing  but  to  inspire.  I  had  better  never 
see  a  book,  than  to  be  warped  by  its  attraction  clean  out  of  my  own 
orbit,  and  made  a  satellite  instead  of  a  system.  The  one  thing  in  the 
world,  of  value,  is  the  active  soul.  This  every  man  is  entitled  to; 
this  every  man  con  tarns  within  him,  although,  in  almost  all  men, 
obstructed,  and  as  yet  unborn.  The  soul  active  sees  absolute  truth; 
and  utters  truth,  or  creates.  In  this  action,  it  is  genius;  not  the 
privilege  of  here  and  there  a  favorite,  but  the  sound  estate  of  every 
man.  In  its  essence,  it  is  progressive.  The  book,  the  college,  the 
school  of  art,  the  institution  of  any  kind,  stop  with  some  past  utter- 
ance of  genius.  This  is  good,  say  they, — let  us  hold  by  this.  They 
pin  me  down.  They  look  backward  and  not  forward.  But  genius 
looks  forward:  the  eyes  of  man  are  set  in  his  forehead,  not  in  his 
hindhead:  man  hopes:  genius  creates.  Whatever  talents  may  be, 
if  the  man  create  not,  the  pure  efflux  of  the  Deity  is  not  his; — 
cinders  and  smoke  there  may  be,  but  not  yet  flame.  There  are 
creative  manners,  there  are  creative  actions,  and  creative  words; 
manners,  actions,  words,  that  is,  indicative  of  no  custom  or  authority, 


350  AMERICAN  PROSE 


but  springing  spontaneous  from  the  mind's  own  sense  of  good  and 
fair. 

On  the  other  part,  instead  of  being  its  own  seer,  let  it  receive 
from  another  mind  its  truth,  though  it  were  in  torrents  of  light,  with- 
out periods  of  solitude,  inquest,  and  self-recovery,  and  a  fatal  disserv- 
ice is  done.  Genius  is  always  sufficiently  the  enemy  of  genius  by 
over-influence.  The  literature  of  every  nation  bear[s]  me  witness. 
The  English  dramatic  poets  have  Shakspearized  now  for  two  hundred 
years. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  a  right  way  of  reading,  so  it  be  sternly 
subordinated.  Man  Thinking  must  not  be  subdued  by  his  instru- 
ments. Books  are  for  the  scholar's  idle  times.  When  he  can  read 
God  directly,  the  hour  is  too  precious  to  be  wasted  in  other  men's 
transcripts  of  their  readings.  But  when  the  intervals  of  darkness 
come,  as  come  they  must, — when  the  sun  is  hid,  and  the  stars  with- 
draw their  shining, — we  repair  to  the  lamps  which  were  kindled  by 
their  ray,  to  guide  our  steps  to  the  East  again,  where  the  dawn  is. 
We  hear,  that  we  may  speak.  The  Arabian  proverb  says,  "A  fig 
tree,  looking  on  a  fig  tree,  becometh  fruitful." 

It  is  remarkable,  the  character  of  the  pleasure  we  derive  from  the 
best  books.  They  impress  us  with  the  conviction,  that  one  nature 
wrote  and  the  same  reads.  We  read  the  verses  of  one  of  the  great 
English  poets,  of  Chaucer,  of  Marvell,  of  Dryden,  with  the  most 
modern  joy, — with  a  pleasure,  I  mean,  which  is  in  great  part  caused 
by  the  abstraction  of  all  time  from  their  verses.  There  is  some  awe 
mixed  with  the  joy  of  our  surprise,  when  this  poet,  who  lived  in  some 
past  world,  two  or  three  hundred  years  ago,  says  that  which  lies  close 
to  my  own  soul,  that  which  I  also  had  well  nigh  thought  and  said. 
But  for  the  evidence  thence  afforded  to  the  philosophical  doctrine 
of  the  identity  of  all  minds,  we  should  suppose  some  preestablished 
harmony,  some  foresight  of  souls  that  were  to  be,  and  some  prepara- 
tion of  stores  for  their  future  wants,  like  the  fact  observed  in  insects, 
who  lay  up  food  before  death  for  the  young  grub  they  shall  never  see. 

I  would  not  be  hurried  by  any  love  of  system,  by  any  exagger- 
ation of  instincts,  to  underrate  the  Book.  We  all  know,  that,  as  the 
human  body  can  be  nourished  on  any  food,  though  it  were  boiled 
grass  and  the  broth  of  shoes,  so  the  human  mind  can  be  fed  by  any 
knowledge.  And  great  and  heroic  men  have  existed,  who  had  almost 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  351 

no  other  information  than  by  the  printed  page.  I  only  would  say, 
that  it  needs  a  strong  head  to  bear  that  diet.  One  must  be  an 
inventor  to  read  well.  As  the  proverb  says,  '  'He  that  would  bring 
home  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies."  There  is  then  creative  reading  as  well  as  creative  writing. 
When  the  mind  is  braced  by  labor  and  invention,  the  page  of  what- 
ever book  we  read  becomes  luminous  with  manifold  allusion.  Every 
sentence  is  doubly  significant,  and  the  sense  of  our  author  is  as  broad 
as  the  world.  We  then  see,  what  is  always  true,  that,  as  the  seer's 
hour  of  vision  is  short  and  rare  among  heavy  days  and  months,  so  is 
its  record,  perchance,  the  least  part  of  his  volume.  The  discerning 
will  read,  in  his  Plato  or  Shakspeare,  only  that  least  part, — only  the 
authentic  utterances  of  the  oracle; — all  the  rest  he  rejects,  were  it 
never  so  many  tunes  Plato's  and  Shakspeare's. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  portion  of  reading  quite  indispensable  to 
a  wise  man.  History  and  exact  science  he  must  learn  by  laborious 
reading.  Colleges,  in  like  manner,  have  their  indispensable  office, — 
to  teach  elements.  But  they  can  only  highly  serve  us,  when  they  aim 
not  to  drill,  but  to  create;  when  they  gather  from  far  every  ray  of 
various  genius  to  their  hospitable  halls,  and,  by  the  concentrated 
fires,  set  the  hearts  of  their  youth  on  flame.  Thought  and  knowledge 
are  natures  in  which  apparatus  and  pretension  avail  nothing.  Gowns, 
and  pecuniary  foundations,  though  of  towns  of  gold,  can  never 
countervail  the  least  sentence  or  syllable  of  wit.  Forget  this,  and 
our  American  colleges  will  recede  in  their  public  importance,  whilh- 
they  grow  richer  every  year. 

III.  There  goes  hi  the  world  a  notion,  that  the  scholar  shouk" 
be  a  recluse,  a  valetudinarian, — as  unfit  for  any  handiwork  or  public 
labor,  as  a  pen-knife  for  an  axe.  The  so-called  "practical  men" 
sneer  at  speculative  men,  as  if,  because  they  speculate  or  see,  they 
could  do  nothing.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  clergy, — who  are 
always,  more  universally  than  any  other  class,  the  scholars  of  their 
day, — are  addressed  as  women;  that  the  rough,  spontaneous  conver- 
sation of  men  they  do  not  hear,  but  only  a  mincing  and  diluted  speech. 
They  are  often  virtually  disfranchised;  and,  indeed,  there  are  advo- 
cates for  their  celibacy.  As  far  as  this  is  true  of  the  studious  classes, 
it  is  not  just  and  wise.  Action  is  with  the  scholar  subordinate,  but 
it  is  essential.  Without  it,  he  is  not  yet  man.  Without  it,  thought 


352  AMERICAN  PROSE 


can  never  ripen  into  truth.  Whilst  the  world  hangs  before  the  eye 
as  a  cloud  of  beauty,  we  cannot  even  see  its  beauty.  Inaction  is 
cowardice,  but  there  can  be  no  scholar  without  the  heroic  mind. 
The  preamble  of  thought,  the  transition  through  which  it  passes  from 
the  unconscious  to  the  conscious,  is  action.  Only  so  much  do  I  know, 
as  I  have  lived.  Instantly  we  know  whose  words  are  loaded  with 
life,  and  whose  not. 

The  world, — this  shadow  of  the  soul,  or  other  me,  lies  wide  around. 
Its  attractions  are  the  keys  which  unlock  my  thoughts  and  make  me 
acquainted  with  myself.  I  run  eagerly  into  this  resounding  tumult. 
I  grasp  the  hands  of  those  next  me,  and  take  my  place  in  the  ring  to 
suffer  and  to  work,  taught  by  an  instinct,  that  so  shall  the  dumb 
abyss  be  vocal  with  speech.  I  pierce  its  order;  I  dissipate  its  fear; 
I  dispose  of  it  within  the  circuit  of  my  expanding  life.  So  much  only 
of  life  as  I  know  by  experience,  so  much  of  the  wilderness  have  I 
vanquished  and  planted,  or  so  far  have  I  extended  my  being,  my 
dominion.  I  do  not  see  how  any  man  can  afford,  for  the  sake  of  his 
nerves  and  his  nap,  to  spare  any  action  in  which  he  can  partake.  It  is 
pearls  and  rubies  to  his  discourse.  Drudgery,  calamity,  exaspera- 
tion, want,  are  instructors  in  eloquence  and  wisdom.  The  true 
scholar  grudges  every  opportunity  of  action  past  by,  as  a  loss  of 
power. 

It  is  the  raw  material  out  of  which  the  intellect  moulds  her 
splendid  products.  A  strange  process  too,  this,  by  which  experience 
is  converted  into  thought,  as  a  mulberry  leaf  is  converted  into  satin. 
The  manufacture  goes  forward  at  all  hours. 

The  actions  and  events  of  our  childhood  and  youth,  are  now 
matters  of  calmest  observation.  They  lie  like  fair  pictures  in  the 
air.  Not  so  with  our  recent  actions, — with  the  business  which  we 
now  have  in  hand.  On  this  we  are  quite  unable  to  speculate.  Our 
affections  as  yet  circulate  through  it.  We  no  more  feel  or  know  it, 
than  we  feel  the  feet,  or  the  hand,  or  the  brain  of  our  body.  The 
new  deed  is  yet  a  part  of  life, — remains  for  a  time  immersed  in  our 
unconscious  life.  In  some  contemplative  hour,  it  detaches  itself 
from  the  life  like  a  ripe  fruit,  to  become  a  thought  of  the  mind. 
Instantly,  it  is  raised,  transfigured;  the  corruptible  has  put  on  incor- 
ruption.  Henceforth  it  is  an  object  of  beauty,  however  base  its 
origin  and  neighborhood.  Observe,  too,  the  impossibility  of  ante- 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  353 

dating  this  act.  In  its  grub  state,  it  cannot  fly,  it  cannot  shine,  it  is 
a  dull  grub.  But  suddenly,  without  observation,  the  selfsame  thing 
unfurls  beautiful  wings,  and  is  an  angel  of  wisdom.  So  is  there  no 
fact,  no  event,  in  our  private  history,  which  shall  not,  sooner  or  later, 
lose  its  adhesive,  inert  form,  and  astonish  us  by  soaring  from  our  body 
into  the  empyrean.  Cradle  and  infancy,  school  and  playground,  the 
fear  of  boys,  and  dogs,  and  ferules,  the  love  of  little  maids  and  berries, 
and  many  another  fact  that  once  filled  the  whole  sky,  are  gone 
already ;  friend  and  relative,  profession  and  party,  town  and  country, 
nation  and  world,  must  also  soar  and  sing. 

Of  course,  he  who  has  put  forth  his  total  strength  in  fit  actions, 
has  the  richest  return  of  wisdom.  I  will  not  shut  myself  out  of  this 
globe  of  action,  and  transplant  an  oak  into  a  flower-pot,  there  to 
hunger  and  pine;  nor  trust  the  revenue  of  some  single  faculty,  and 
exhaust  one  vein  of  thought,  much  like  those  Savoyards,  who, 
getting  their  livelihood  by  carving  shepherds,  shepherdesses,  and 
smoking  Dutchmen,  for  all  Europe,  went  out  one  day  to  the  mountain 
to  find  stock,  and  discovered  that  they  had  whittled  up  the  last  of 
their  pine-trees.  Authors  we  have,  in  numbers,  who  have  written 
out  their  vein,  and  who,  moved  by  a  commendable  prudence,  sail  for 
Greece  or  Palestine,  follow  the  trapper  into  the  prairie,  or  ramble 
round  Algiers,  to  replenish  their  merchantable  stock. 

If  it  were  only  for  a  vocabulary,  the  scholar  would  be  covetous  of 
action.  Life  is  our  dictionary.  Years  are  well  spent  in  country 
labors;  in  town, — in  the  insight  into  trades  and  manufactures;  in 
frank  intercourse  with  many  men  and  women;  hi  science;  in  art; 
to  the  one  end  of  mastering  in  all  their  facts  a  language  by  which  to 
illustrate  and  embody  our  perceptions.  I  learn  immediately  from 
any  speaker  how  much  he  has  already  lived,  through  the  poverty  or 
the  splendor  of  his  speech.  Life  lies  behind  us  as  the  quarry  from 
whence  we  get  tiles  and  copestones  for  the  masonry  of  to-day.  This 
is  the  way  to  learn  grammar.  Colleges  and  books  only  copy  the 
language  which  the  field  and  the  work-yard  made. 

But  the  final  value  of  action,  like  that  of  books,  and  better  than 
books,  is,  that  it  is  a  resource.  That  great  principle  of  Undulation 
in  nature,  that  shows  itself  in  the  inspiring  and  expiring  of  the  breath ; 
in  desire  and  satiety;  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea;  in  day  and 
night;  in  heat  and  cold;  and  as  yet  more  deeply  ingrained  in  every 


354  AMERICAN  PROSE 


atom  and  every  fluid,  is  known  to  us  under  the  name  of  Polarity, — 
these  "fits  of  easy  transmission  and  reflection,"  as  Newton  called 
them,  are  the  law  of  nature  because  they  are  the  law  of  spirit. 

The  mind  now  thinks;  now  acts;  and  each  fit  reproduces  the 
other.  When  the  artist  has  exhausted  his  materials,  when  the  fancy 
no  longer  paints,  when  thoughts  are  no  longer  apprehended,  and 
books  are  a  weariness, — he  has  always  the  resource  to  live.  Char- 
acter is  higher  than  intellect.  Thinking  is  the  function.  Living 
is  the  functionary.  The  stream  retreats  to  its  source.  A  great  soul 
will  be  strong  to  live,  as  well  as  strong  to  think.  Does  he  lack  organ 
or  medium  to  impart  his  truth  ?  He  can  still  fall  back  on  this  ele- 
mental force  of  living  them.  This  is  a  total  act.  Thinking  is  a 
partial  act.  Let  the  grandeur  of  justice  shine  La  his  affairs.  Let 
the  beauty  of  affection  cheer  his  lowly  roof.  Those  "far  from  fame," 
who  dwell  and  act  with  him,  will  feel  the  force  of  his  constitution  in 
the  doings  and  passages  of  the  day  better  than  it  can  be  measured 
by  any  public  and  designed  display.  Tune  shall  teach  him,  that  the 
scholar  loses  no  hour  which  the  man  lives.  Herein  he  unfolds  the 
sacred  germ  of  his  instinct,  screened  from  influence.  What  is  lost 
in  seemliness  is  gained  hi  strength.  Not  out  of  those,  on  whom  sys- 
tems of  education  have  exhausted  their  culture,  comes  the  helpful 
giant  to  destroy  the  old  or  to  build  the  new,  but  out  of  unhandselled 
savage  nature,  out  of  terrible  Druids  and  Berserkirs  come  at  last 
Alfred  and  Shakspeare. 

I  hear  therefore  with  joy  whatever  is  beginning  to  be  said  of  the 
dignity  and  necessity  of  labor  to  every  citizen.  There  is  virtue  yet 
in  the  hoe  and  the  spade,  for  learned  as  well  as  for  unlearned  hands. 
And  labor  is  everywhere  welcome;  always  we  are  invited  to  work; 
only  be  this  limitation  observed,  that  a  man  shall  not  for  the  sake  of 
wider  activity  sacrifice  any  opinion  to  the  popular  judgments  and 
modes  of  action. 

I  have  now  spoken  of  the  education  of  the  scholar  by  nature,  by 
books,  and  by  action.  It  remains  to  say  somewhat  of  his  duties. 

They  are  such  as  become  Man  Thinking.  They  may  all  be 
comprised  in  self-trust.  The  office  of  the  scholar  is  to  cheer,  to  raise, 
and  to  guide  men  by  showing  them  facts  amidst  appearances.  He 
plies  the  slow,  unhonored,  and  unpaid  task  of  observation.  Flam- 
steed  and  Herschel,  in  their  glazed  observatories,  may  catalogue  the 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  355 

stars  with  the  praise  of  all  men,  and,  the  results  being  splendid  and 
useful,  honor  is  sure.  But  he,  in  his  private  observatory,  cataloguing 
obscure  and  nebulous  stars  of  the  human  mind,  which  as  yet  no  man 
has  thought  of  as  such, — watching  days  and  months,  sometimes,  for 
a  few  facts;  correcting  still  his  old  records; — must  relinquish  display 
and  immediate  fame.  In  the  long  period  of  his  preparation,  he  must 
betray  often  an  ignorance  and  shiftlessness  in  popular  arts,  incurring 
the  disdain  of  the  able  who  shoulder  him  aside.  Long  he  must 
stammer  in  his  speech;  often  forego  the  living  for  the  dead.  Worse 
yet,  he  must  accept, — how  often!  poverty  and  solitude.  For  the 
ease  and  pleasure  of  treading  the  old  road,  accepting  the  fashions, 
the  education,  the  religion  of  society,  he  takes  the  cross  of  making 
his  own,  and,  of  course,  the  self-accusation,  the  faint  heart,  the  fre- 
quent uncertainty  and  loss  of  time,  which  are  the  nettles  and  tangling 
vines  hi  the  way  of  the  self-relying  and  self-directed;  and  the  state 
of  virtual  hostility  in  which  he  seems  to  stand  to  society,  and  espe- 
cially to  educated  society.  For  all  this  loss  and  scorn,  what  offset  ? 
He  is  to  find  consolation  in  exercising  the  highest  functions  of  human 
nature.  He  is  one,  who  raises  himself  from  private  considerations, 
and  breathes  and  lives  on  public  and  illustrious  thoughts.  He  is  the 
world's  eye.  He  is  the  world's  heart.  He  is  to  resist  the  vulgar 
prosperity  that  retrogrades  ever  to  barbarism,  by  preserving  and 
communicating  heroic  sentiments,  noble  biographies,  melodious 
verse,  and  the  conclusions  of  history.  Whatsoever  oracles  the 
human  heart,  in  all  emergencies,  in  all  solemn  hours,  has  uttered  as 
its  commentary  on  the  world  of  actions, — these  he  shall  receive  and 
impart.  And  whatsoever  new  verdict  Reason  from  her  inviolable 
seat  pronounces  on  the  passing  men  and  events  of  to-day, — this  he 
shall  hear  and  promulgate. 

These  being  his  functions,  it  becomes  him  to  feel  all  confidence 
in  himself,  and  to  defer  never  to  the  popular  cry.  He  and  he  only 
knows  the  world.  The  world  of  any  moment  is  the  merest  appear- 
ance. Some  great  decorum,  some  fetish  of  a  government,  some 
ephemeral  trade,  or  war,  or  man,  is  cried  up  by  half  mankind  and 
cried  down  by  the  other  half,  as  if  all  depended  on  this  particular  up 
or  down.  The  odds  are  that  the  whole  question  is  not  worth  the 
poorest  thought  which  the  scholar  has  lost  in  listening  to  the  contro- 
versy. Let  him  not  quit  his  belief  that  a  popgun  is  a  popgun,  though 


356  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  ancient  and  honorable  of  the  earth  affirm  it  to  be  the  crack  of 
doom.  In  silence,  in  steadiness,  in  severe  abstraction,  let  him  hold  by 
himself;  add  observation  to  observation,  patient  of  neglect,  patient 
of  reproach;  and  bide  his  own  time, — happy  enough,  if  he  can  satisfy 
himself  alone,  that  this  day  he  has  seen  something  truly.  Success 
treads  on  every  right  step.  For  the  instinct  is  sure,  that  prompts 
him  to  tell  his  brother  what  he  thinks.  He  then  learns,  that  in  going 
down  into  the  secrets  of  his  own  mind,  he  has  descended  into  the 
secrets  of  all  minds.  He  learns  that  he  who  has  mastered  any  law 
in  his  private  thoughts,  is  master  to  that,  extent  of  all  men  whose 
language  he  speaks,  and  of  all  into  whose  language  his  own  can  be 
translated.  The  poet,  in  utter  solitude  remembering  his  spon- 
taneous thoughts  and  recording  them,  is  found  to  have  recorded  that, 
which  men  in  crowded  cities  find  true  for  them  also.  The  orator 
distrusts  at  first  the  fitness  of  his  frank  confessions, — his  want  of 
knowledge  of  the  persons  he  addresses, — until  he  finds  that  he  is  the 
complement  of  his  hearers; — that  they  drink  his  words  because  he 
fulfils  for  them  their  own  nature;  the  deeper  he  dives  into  his  privatest, 
secretest  presentiment,  to  his  wonder  he  finds,  this  is  the  most 
acceptable,  most  public,  and  universally  true.  The  people  delight  in 
it;  the  better  part  of  every  man  feels,  This  is  my  music;  this  is  myself. 
In  self -trust,  all  the  virtues  are  comprehended.  Free  should  the 
scholar  be, — free  and  brave.  Free  even  to  the  definition  of  freedom, 
"without  any  hindrance  that  does  not  arise  out  of  his  own  consti- 
tution." Brave;  for  fear  is  a  thing,  which  a  scholar  by  his  very 
function  puts  behind  him.  Fear  always  springs  from  ignorance.  It 
is  a  shame  to  him  if  his  tranquillity,  amid  dangerous  times,  arise  from 
the  presumption,  that,  like  children  and  women,  his  is  a  protected 
class;  or  if  he  seek  a  temporary  peace  by  the  diversion  of  his  thoughts 
from  politics  or  vexed  questions,  hiding  his  head  like  an  ostrich  in  the 
flowering  bushes,  peeping  into  microscopes,  and  turning  rhymes,  as 
a  boy  whistles  to  keep  his  courage  up.  So  is  the  danger  a  danger  still ; 
so  is  the  fear  worse.  Manlike  let  him  turn  and  face  it.  Let  him 
look  into  its  eye  and  search  its  nature,  inspect  its  origin, — see  the 
whelping  of  this  lion, — which  lies  no  great  way  back;  he  will  then 
find  in  himself  a  perfect  comprehension  of  its  nature  and  extent;  he 
will  have  made  his  hands  meet  on  the  other  side,  and  can  henceforth 
defy  it,  and  pass  on  superior.  The  world  is  his,  who  can  see  through 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  357 

its  pretension.  What  deafness,  what  stone-blind  custom,  what 
overgrown  error  you  behold,  is  there  only  by  sufferance, — by  your 
sufferance.  See  it  to  be  a  lie,  and  you  have  already  dealt  it  its 
mortal  blow. 

Yes,  we  are  the  cowed, — we  the  trustless.  It  is  a  mischievous 
notion  that  we  are  come  late  into  nature;  that  the  world  was  finished 
a  long  time  ago.  As  the  world  was  plastic  and  fluid  in  the  hands  of 
God,  so  it  is  ever  to  so  much  of  his  attributes  as  we  bring  to  it.  To 
ignorance  and  sin,  it  is  flint.  They  adapt  themselves  to  it  as  they 
may;  but  in  proportion  as  a  man  has  any  thing  in  him  divine,  the 
firmament  flows  before  him  and  takes  his  signet  and  form.  Not  he 
is  great  who  can  alter  matter,  but  he  who  can  alter  my  state  of  mind. 
They  are  the  kings  of  the  world  who  give  the  color  of  their  present 
thought  to  all  nature  and  all  art,  and  persuade  men  by  the  cheerful 
serenity  of  their  carrying  the  matter,  that  this  thing  which  they  do, 
is  the  apple  which  the  ages  have  desired  to  pluck,  now  at  last  ripe, 
and  inviting  nations  to  the  harvest.  The  great  man  makes  the  great 
thing.  Wherever  Macdonald  sits,  there  is  the  head  of  the  table. 
Linnaeus  makes  botany  the  most  alluring  of  studies,  and  wins  it  from 
the  farmer  and  the  herb-woman;  Davy,  chemistry;  and  Cuvier, 
fossils.  The  day  is  always  his,  who  works  in  it  with  serenity  and 
great  aims.  The  unstable  estimates  of  men  crowd  to  him  whose  mind 
is  filled  with  a  truth,  as  the  heaped  waves  of  the  Atlantic  follow  the 
moon. 

For  this  self-trust,  the  reason  is  deeper  than  can  be  fathomed, — 
darker  than  can  be  enlightened.  I  might  not  carry  with  me  the 
feeling  of  my  audience  in  stating  my  own  belief.  But  I  have  already 
shown  the  ground  of  my  hope,  in  adverting  to  the  doctrine  that  man 
is  one.  I  believe  man  has  been  wronged;  he  has  wronged  himself. 
He  has  almost  lost  the  light,  that  can  lead  him  back  to  his  pre- 
rogatives. Men  are  become  of  no  account.  Men  in  history,  men 
in  the  world  of  to-day,  are  bugs,  are  spawn,  and  are  called  "the  mass" 
and  "the  herd."  In  a  century,  in  a  millennium,  one  or  two  men; 
that  is  to  say, — one  or  two  approximations  to  the  right  state  of  every 
man.  All  the  rest  behold  hi  the  hero  or  the  poet  their  own  green  and 
crude  being, — ripened;  yes,  and  are  content  to  be  less,  so  that  may 
attain  to  its  full  stature.  What  a  testimony, — full  of  grandeur, 
full  of  pity,  is  borne  to  the  demands  of  his  own  nature,  by  the  poor 


358  AMERICAN  PROSE 


clansman,  the  poor  partisan,  who  rejoices  in  the  glory  of  his  chief. 
The  poor  and  the  low  find  some  amends  to  their  immense  moral 
capacity,  for  their  acquiescence  in  a  political  and  social  inferiority. 
They  are  content  to  be  brushed  like  flies  from  the  path  of  a  great 
person,  so  that  justice  shall  be  done  by  him  to  that  common  nature 
which  it  is  the  dearest  desire  of  all  to  see  enlarged  and  glorified. 
They  sun  themselves  in  the  great  man's  light,  and  feel  it  to  be  their 
own  element.  They  cast  the  dignity  of  man  from  their  downtrod 
selves  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  hero,  and  will  perish  to  add  one  drop  of 
blood  to  make  that  great  heart  beat,  those  giant  sinews  combat  and 
conquer.  He  lives  for  us,  and  we  live  in  him. 

Men  such  as  they  are,  very  naturally  seek  money  or  power;  and 
power  because  it  is  as  good  as  money, — the  "spoils,"  so  called,  "of 
office."  And  why  not  ?  for  they  aspire  to  the  highest,  and  this,  in  their 
sleep-walking,  they  dream  is  highest.  Wake  them,  and  they  shall 
quit  the  false  good,  and  leap  to  the  true,  and  leave  governments  to 
clerks  and  desks.  This  revolution  is  to  be  wrought  by  the  gradual 
domestication  of  the  idea  of  Culture.  The  main  enterprise  of  the 
world  for  splendor,  for  extent,  is  the  upbuilding  of  a  man.  Here  are 
the  materials  strown  along  the  ground.  The  private  life  of  one  man 
shall  be  a  more  illustrious  monarchy, — more  formidable  to  its  enemy, 
more  sweet  and  serene  in  its  influence  to  its  friend,  than  any  kingdom 
in  history.  For  a  man,  rightly  viewed,  comprehendeth  the  particular 
natures  of  all  men.  Each  philosopher,  each  bard,  each  actor,  has 
only  done  for  me,  as  by  a  delegate,  what  one  day  I  can  do  for  myself. 
The  books  which  once  we  valued  more  than  the  apple  of  the  eye,  we 
have  quite  exhausted.  What  is  that  but  saying,  that  we  have  come 
up  with  the  point  of  view  which  the  universal  mind  took  through 
the  eyes  of  one  scribe;  we  have  been  that  man,  and  have  passed  on. 
First,  one;  then,  another;  we  drain  all  cisterns,  and,  waxing  greater 
by  all  these  supplies,  we  crave  a  better  and  more  abundant  food. 
The  man  has  never  lived  that  can  feed  us  ever.  The  human  mind 
cannot  be  enshrined  in  a  person,  who  shall  set  a  barrier  on  any  one 
side  to  this  unbounded,  unboundable  empire.  It  is  one  central  fire, 
which,  flaming  now  out  of  the  lips  of  Etna,  lightens  the  capes  of 
Sicily;  and  now  out  of  the  throat  of  Vesuvius,  illuminates  the  towers 
and  vineyards  of  Naples.  It  is  one  light  which  beams  out  of  a 
thousand  stars.  It  is  one  soul  which  animates  all  men. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  359 

But  I  have  dwelt  perhaps  tediously  upon  this  abstraction  of  the 
Scholar.  I  ought  not  to'  delay  longer  to  add  what  I  have  to  say,  of 
nearer  reference  to  the  time  and  to  this  country. 

Historically,  there  is  thought  to  be  a  difference  in  the  ideas  which 
predominate  over  successive  epochs,  and  there  are  data  for  marking 
the  genius  of  the  Classic,  of  the  Romantic,  and  now  of  the  Reflective 
or  Philosophical  age.  With  the  views  I  have  intimated  of  the  one- 
ness or  the  identity  of  the  mind  through  all  individuals,  I  do  not  much 
dwell  on  these  differences.  In  fact,  I  believe  each  individual  passes 
through  all  three.  The  boy  is  a  Greek;  the  youth,  romantic;  the 
adult,  reflective.  I  deny  not,  however,  that  a  revolution  in  the  lead- 
ing idea  may  be  distinctly  enough  traced. 

Our  age  is  bewailed  as  the  age  of  Introversion.  Must  that  needs 
be  evil  ?  We,  it  seems,  are  critical;  we  are  embarrassed  with  second 
thoughts;  we  cannot  enjoy  any  thing  for  hankering  to  know  whereof 
the  pleasure  consists;  we  are  lined  with  eyes;  we  see  with  our  feet; 
the  time  is  infected  with  Hamlet's  unhappiness, — 

"Sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought." 

It  is  so  bad  then  ?  Sight  is  the  last  thing  to  be  pitied.  Would  we 
be  blind?  Do  we  fear  lest  we  should  outsee  nature  and  God,  and 
drink  truth  dry?  I  look  upon  the  discontent  of  the  literary  class, 
as  a  mere  announcement  of  the  fact,  that  they  find  themselves  not 
in  the  state  of  mind  of  their  fathers,  and  regret  the  coming. state  as 
untried;  as  a  boy  dreads  the  water  before  he  has  learned  that  he  can 
swim.  If  there  is  any  period  one  would  desire  to  be  born  in, — is  it 
not  the  age  of  Revolution;  when  the  old  and  the  new  stand  side  by 
side,  and  admit  of  being  compared;  when  the  energies  of  all  men  are 
searched  by  fear  and  by  hope;  when  the  historic  glories  of  the  old, 
can  be  compensated  by  the  rich  possibilities  of  the  new  era?  This 
time,  like  all  times,  is  a  very  good  one,  if  we  'but  know  what  to  do 
with  it. 

I  read  with  some  joy  of  the  auspicious  signs  of  the  coming  days, 
as  they  glimmer  already  through  poetry  and  art,  through  philosophy 
and  science,  through  church  and  state. 

One  of  these  signs  is  the  fact,  that  the  same  movement  which 
effected  the  elevation  of  what  was  called  the  lowest  class  in  the  state, 
assumed  in  literature  a  very  marked  and  as  benign  an  aspect.  Instead 


360  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  the  sublime  and  beautiful;  the  near,  the  low,  the  common,  was 
explored  and  poetized.  That,  which  had  been  negligently  trodden 
under  foot  by  those  who  were  harnessing  and  provisioning  them- 
selves for  long  journeys  into  far  countries,  is  suddenly  found  to  be 
richer  than  all  foreign  parts.  The  literature  of  the  poor,  the  feelings 
of  the  child,  the  philosophy  of  the  street,  the  meaning  of  household 
life,  are  the  topics  of  the  time.  It  is  a  great  stride.  It  is  a  sign, — 
is  it  not  ?  of  new  vigor,  when  the  extremities  are  made  active,  when 
currents  of  warm  life  run  into  the  hands  and  the  feet.  I  ask  not  for 
the  great,  the  remote,  the  romantic;  what  is  doing  in  Italy  or  Arabia; 
what  is  Greek  art,  or  Provencal  minstrelsy;  I  embrace  the  common, 
I  explore  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  familiar,  the  low.  Give  me  insight 
into  to-day,  and  you  may  have  the  antique  and  future  worlds.  What 
would  we  really  know  the  meaning  of  ?  The  meal  in  the  firkin;  the 
milk  in  the  pan;  the  ballad  in  the  street;  the  news  of  the  boat;  the 
glance  of  the  eye.;  the  form  and  the  gait  of  the  body; — show  me  the 
ultimate  reason  of  these  matters;  show  me  the  sublime  presence  of 
the  highest  spiritual  cause  lurking,  as  always  it  does  lurk,  in  these 
suburbs  and  extremities  of  nature;  let  me  see  every  trifle  bristling 
with  the  polarity  that  ranges  it  instantly  on  an  eternal  law;  and  the 
shop,  the  plough,  and  the  ledger,  referred  to  the  like  cause  by  which 
light  undulates  and  poets  sing; — and  the  world  lies  no  longer  a  dull 
miscellany  and  lumber-room,  but  has  form  and  order;  there  is  no 
trifle;  there  is  no  puzzle;  but  one  design  unites  and  animates  the 
farthest  pinnacle  and  the  lowest  trench. 

This  idea  has  inspired  the  genius  of  Goldsmith,  Burns,  Cowper, 
and,  in  a  newer  time,  of  Goethe,  Wordsworth,  and  Carlyle.  This 
idea  they  have  differently  followed  and  with  various  success.  In 
contrast  with  their  writing,  the  style  of  Pope,  of  Johnson,  of  Gibbon, 
looks  cold  and  pedantic.  This  writing  is  blood-warm.  Man  is  sur- 
prised to  find  that  things  near  are  not  less  beautiful  and  wondrous 
than  things  remote.  The  near  explains  the  far.  The  drop  is  a  small 
ocean.  A  man  is  related  to  all  nature.  This  perception  of  the  worth 
of  the  vulgar  is  fruitful  in  discoveries.  Goethe,  in  this  very  thing 
the  most  modern  of  the  moderns,  has  shown  us,  as  none  ever  did,  the 
genius  of  the  ancients. 

There  is  one  man  of  genius,  who  has  done  much  for  this  phi- 
losophy of  life,  whose  literary  value  has  never  yet  been  rightly  esti- 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  361 

mated; — I  mean  Emanuel  Swedenborg.  The  most  imaginative  of 
men,  yet  writing  with  the  precision  of  a  mathematician,  he  endeavored 
to  engraft  a  purely  philosophical  Ethics  on  the  popular  Christianity 
of  his  time.  Such  an  attempt,  of  course,  must  have  difficulty,  which 
no  genius  could  surmount.  But  he  saw  and  showed  the  connection 
between  nature  and  the  affections  of  the  soul.  He  pierced  the 
emblematic  or  spiritual  character  of  the  visible,  audible,  tangible 
world.  Especially  did  his  shade-loving  muse  hover  over  and  inter- 
pret the  lower  parts  of  nature;  he  showed  the  mysterious  bond  that 
allies  moral  evil  to  the  foul  material  forms,  and  has  given  in  epical 
parables  a  theory  of  insanity,  of  beasts,  of  unclean  and  fearful  things. 
Another  sign  of  our  times,  also  marked  by  an  analogous  political 
movement,  is,  the  new  importance  given  to  the  single  person.  Every 
thing  that  tends  to  insulate  the  individual, — to  surround  him  with 
barriers  of  natural  respect,  so  that  each  man  shall  feel  the  world  is 
his,  and  man  shall  treat  with  man  as  a  sovereign  state  with  a  sovereign 
state; — tends  to  true  union  as  well  as  greatness.  "I  learned,"  said 
the  melancholy  Pestalozzi,  "that  no  man  in  God's  wide  earth  is  either 
willing  or  able  to  help  any  other  man."  Help  must  come  from  the 
bosom  alone.  The  scholar  is  that  man  who  must  take  up  into  him- 
self all  the  ability  of  the  tune,  all  the  contributions  of  the  past,  all 
the  hopes  of  the  future.  He  must  be  an  university  of  knowledges. 
If  there  be  one  lesson  more  than  another,  which  should  pierce  his 
ear,  it  is,  The  world  is  nothing,  the  man  is  all;  in  yourself  is  the  law 
of  all  nature,  and  you  know  not  yet  how  a  globule  of  sap  ascends; 
in  yourself  slumbers  the  whole  of  Reason;  it  is  for  you  to  know  all; 
it  is  for  you  to  dare  all.  Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  this  confi- 
dence ha  the  unsearched  might  of  man  belongs,  by  all  motives,  by  all 
prophecy,  by  all  preparation,  to  the  American  Scholar.  We  have 
listened  too  long  to  the  courtly  muses  of  Europe.  The  spirit  of  the 
American  freeman  is  already  suspected  to  be  timid,  imitative,  tame. 
Public  and  private  avarice  make  the  air  we  breathe  thick  and  fat. 
The  scholar  is  decent,  indolent,  complaisant.  See  already  the  tragic 
consequence.  The  mind  of  this  country,  taught  to  ami  at  low  objects, 
eats  upon  itself.  There  is  no  work  for  any  but  the  decorous  and  the 
complaisant.  Young  men  of  the  fairest  promise,  who  begin  life 
upon  our  shores,  inflated  by  the  mountain  winds,  shined  upon  by  all 
the  stars  of  God,  find  the  earth  below  not  in  unison  with  these, — 


362  AMERICAN  PROSE 


but  are  hindered  from  action  by  the  disgust  which  the  principles  on 
which  business  is  managed  inspire,  and  turn  drudges,  or  die  of  dis- 
gust,— some  of  them  suicides.  What  is  the  remedy  ?  They  did  not 
yet  see,  and  thousands  of  young  men  as  hopeful  now  crowding  to  the 
barriers  for  the  career,  do  not  yet  see,  that,  if  the  single  man  plant 
himself  indomitably  on  his  instincts,  and  there  abide,  the  huge  world 
will  come  round  to  him.  Patience, — patience; — with  the  shades  of 
all  the  good  and  great  for  company;  and  for  solace,  the  perspective 
of  your  own  infinite  life;  and  for  work,  the  study  and  the  communi- 
cation of  principles,  the  making  those  instincts  prevalent,  the  conver- 
sion of  the  world.  Is  it  not  the  chief  disgrace  hi  the  world,  not  to 
be  an  unit; — not  to  be  reckoned  one  character; — not  to  yield  that 
peculiar  fruit  which  each  man  was  created  to  bear,  but  to  be  reckoned 
in  the  gross,  in  the  hundred,  or  the  thousand,  of  the  party,  the  section, 
to  which  we  belong;  and  our  opinion  predicted  geographically,  as 
the  north,  or  the  south  ?  Not  so,  brothers  and  friends, — please 
God,  ours  shall  not  be  so.  We  will  walk  on  our  own  feet;  we  will 
work  with  our  own  hands;  we  will  speak  our  own  minds.  The  study 
of  letters  shall  be  no  longer  a  name  for  pity,  for  doubt,  and  for  sensual 
indulgence.  The  dread  of  man  and  the  love  of  man  shall  be  a  wall 
of  defence  and  a  wreath  of  joy  around  all.  A  nation  of  men  will  for 
the  first  tune  exist,  because  each  believes  himself  inspired  by  the 
Divine  Soul  which  also  inspires  all  men. 

THE  OVER-SOUL 

There  is  a  difference  between  one  and  another  hour  of  life,  in 
their  authority  and  subsequent  effect.  Our  faith  comes  in  moments; 
our  vice  is  habitual.  Yet  there  is  a  depth  in  those  brief  moments 
which  constrains  us  to  ascribe  more  reality  to  them  than  to  all  other 
experiences.  For  this  reason,  the  argument  which  is  always  forth- 
coming to  silence  those  who  conceive  extraordinary  hopes  of  man, 
namely,  the  appeal  to  experience,  is  for  ever  invalid  and  vain.  We 
give  up  the  past  to  the  objector,  and  yet  we  hope.  He  must  explain 
this  hope.  We  grant  that  human  life  is  mean;  but  how  did  we  find 
out  that  it  was  mean?  What  is  the  ground  of  this  uneasiness  of 
ours;  of  this  old  discontent  ?  What  is  the  universal  sense  of  want 
and  ignorance,  but  the  fine  innuendo  by  which  the  soul  makes  its 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  363 

enormous  claim  ?  Why  do  men  feel  that  the  natural  history  of  man 
has  never  been  written,  but  he  is  always  leaving  behind  what  you 
have  said  of  him,  and  it  becomes  old,  and  books  of  metaphysics  worth- 
less? The  philosophy  of  six  thousand  years  has  not  searched  the 
chambers  and  magazines  of  the  soul.  In  its  experiments  there  has 
always  remained,  in  the  last  analysis,  a  residuum  it  could  not  resolve. 
Man  is  a  stream  whose  source  is  hidden.  Our  being  is  descending 
into  us  from  we  know  hot  whence.  The  most  exact  calculator  has 
no  prescience  that  somewhat  incalculable  may  not  balk  the  very  next 
moment.  I  am  constrained  every  moment  to  acknowledge  a  higher 
origin  for  events  than  the  will  I  call  mine. 

As  with  events,  so  is  it  with  thoughts.  When  I  watch  that 
flowing  river,  which,  out  of  regions  I  see  not,  pours  for  a  season  its 
streams  into  me,  I  see  that  I  am  a  pensioner;  not  a  cause,  but  a  sur- 
prised spectator  of  this  ethereal  water;  that  I  desire  and  look  up,  and 
put  myself  in  the  attitude  of  reception,  but  from  some  alien  energy 
the  visions  come. 

The  Supreme  Critic  on  the  errors  of  the  past  and  the  present,  and 
the  only  prophet  of  that  which  must  be,  is  that  great  nature  in  which 
we  rest,  as  the  earth  lies  in  the  soft  arms  of  the  atmosphere;  that 
Unity,  that  Over-soul,  within  which  every  man's  particular  being  is 
contained  and  made  one  with  all  other;  that  common  heart,  of  which 
all  sincere  conversation  is  the  worship,  to  which  all  right  action  is 
submission;  that  overpowering  reality  which  confutes  our  tricks 
and  talents,  and  constrains  every  one  to  pass  for  what  he  is,  and  to 
speak  from  his  character,  and  not  from  his  tongue,  and  which  ever- 
more tends  to  pass  into  our  thought  and  hand,  and  become  wisdom, 
and  virtue,  and  power,  and  beauty.  We  live  in  succession,  in  division, 
in  parts,  in  particles.  Meantime  within  man  is  the  soul  of  the  whole; 
the  wise  silence;  the  universal  beauty,  to  which  every  part  and 
particle  is  equally  related;  the  eternal  ONE.  And  this  deep  power 
in  which  we  exist,  and  whose  beatitude  is  all  accessible  to  us,  is  not 
only  self-sufficing  and  perfect  hi  every  hour,  but  the  act  of  seeing  and 
the  thing  seen,  the  seer  and  the  spectacle,  the  subject  and  the  object, 
are  one.  We  see  the  world  piece  by  piece,  as  the  sun,  the  moon, 
the  animal,  the  tree;  but  the  whole,  of  which  these  are  the  shining 
parts,  is  the  soul.  Only  by  the  vision  of  that  Wisdom  can  the  horo- 
scope of  the  ages  be  read,  and  by  falling  back  on  our  better  thoughts, 


364  AMERICAN  PROSE 


by  yielding  to  the  spirit  of  prophecy  which  is  innate  in  every  man, 
we  can  know  what  it  saith.  Every  man's  words,  who  speaks  from 
that  life,  must  sound  vain  to  those  who  do  not  dwell  in  the  same 
thought  on  their  own  part.  I  dare  not  speak  for  it.  My  words  do 
not  carry  its  august  sense;  they  fall  short  and  cold.  Only  itself  can 
inspire  whom  it  will,  and  behold!  their  speech  shall  be  lyrical,  and 
sweet,  and  universal  as  the  rising  of  the  wind.  Yet  I  desire,  even  by 
profane  words,  if  I  may  not  use  sacred,  to  indicate  the  heaven  of  this 
deity,  and  to  report  what  hints  I  have  collected  of  the  transcendent 
simplicity  and  energy  of  the  Highest  Law. 

If  we  consider  what  happens  in  conversation,  in  reveries,  in 
remorse,  in  tunes  of  passion,  in  surprises,  in  the  instructions  of  dreams, 
wherein  often  we  see  ourselves  in  masquerade, — the  droll  disguises 
only  magnifying  and  enhancing  a  real  element,  and  forcing  it  on  our 
distinct  notice, — we  shall  catch  many  hints  that  will  broaden  and 
lighten  into  knowledge  of  the  secret  of  nature.  All  goes  to  show 
that  the  soul  in  man  is  not  an  organ,  but  animates  and  exercises  all 
the  organs;  is  not  a  function,  like  the  power  of  memory,  of  calcula- 
tion, of  comparison,  but  uses  these  as  hands  and  feet;  is  not  a  faculty, 
but  a  light;  is  not  the  intellect  or  the  will,  but  the  master  of  the 
intellect  and  the  will;  is  the  vast  background  of  our  being,  in  which 
they  lie, — an  immensity  not  possessed  and  that  cannot  be  possessed. 
From  within  or  from  behind,  a  light  shines  through  us  upon  things, 
and  makes  us  aware  that  we  are  nothing,  but  the  light  is  all.  A  man 
is  the  facade  of  a  temple  wherein  all  wisdom  and  all  good  abide. 
What  we  commonly  call  man,  the  eating,  drinking,  planting,  counting 
man,  does  not,  as  we  know  him,  represent  himself,  but  misrepresents 
himself.  Him  we  do  not  respect,  but  the  soul,  whose  organ  he  is, 
would  he  let  it  appear  through  his  action,  would  make  our  knees 
bend.  When  it  breathes  through  his  intellect,  it  is  genius;  when  it 
breathes  through  his  will,  it  is  virtue;  when  it  flows  through  his 
affection,  it  is  love.  And  the  blindness  of  the  intellect  begins,  when 
it  would  be  something  of  itself.  The  weakness  of  the  will  begins, 
when  the  individual  would  be  something  of  himself.  All  reform 
aims,  in  some  one  particular,  to  let  the  soul  have  its  way  through 
us;  in  other  words,  to  engage  us  to  obey. 

Of  this  pure  nature  every  man  is  at  some  tune  sensible.  Lan- 
guage cannot  paint  it  with  his  colors.  It  is  too  subtile.  It  is  unde- 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  365 

finable,  unmeasurable,  but  we  know  that  it  pervades  and  contains 
us.  We  know  that  all  spiritual  being  is  in  man.  A  wise  old  proverb 
says,  "God  comes  to  see  us  without  bell":  that  is,  as  there  is  no 
screen  or  ceiling  between  our  heads  and  the  infinite  heavens,  so  is 
there  no  bar  or  wall  in  the  soul  where  man,  the  effect,  ceases,  and 
God,  the  cause,  begins.  The  walls  are  taken  away.  We  lie  open 
on  one  side  to  the  deeps  of  spiritual  nature,  to  the  attributes  of  God. 
Justice  we  see  and  know,  Love,  Freedom,  Power.  These  natures 
no  man  ever  got  above,  but  they  tower  over  us,  and  most  in  the 
moment  when  our  interests  tempt  us  to  wound  them. 

The  sovereignty  of  this  nature  whereof  we  speak  is  made  known 
by  its  independency  of  those  limitations  which  circumscribe  us  on 
every  hand.  The  soul  circumscribes  all  things.  As  I  have  said,  it 
contradicts  all  experience.  In  like  manner  it  abolishes  time  and 
space.  The  influence  of  the  senses  has,  in  most  men,  overpowered  the 
mind  to  that  degree,  that  the  walls  of  time  and  space  have  come  to 
look  real  and  insurmountable;  and  to  speak  with  levity  of  these 
limits  is,  in  the  world,  the  sign  of  insanity.  Yet  time  and  space  are 
but  inverse  measures  of  the  force  of  the  soul.  The  spirit  sports  with 

time, — 

"  Can  crowd  eternity  into  an  hour, 
Or  stretch  an  hour  to  eternity." 

We  are  often  made  to  feel  that  there  is  another  youth  and  age 
than  that  which  is  measured  from  the  year  of  our  natural  birth. 
Some  thoughts  always  find  us  young,  and  keep  us  so.  Such  a  thought 
is  the  love  of  the  universal  and  eternal  beauty.  Every  man  parts 
from  that  contemplation  with  the  feeling  that  it  rather  belongs  to 
ages  than  to  mortal  life.  The  least  activity  of  the  intellectual  powers 
redeems  us  in  a  degree  from  the  conditions  of  time.  In  sickness,  in 
languor,  give  us  a  strain  of  poetry,  or  a  profound  sentence,  and  we  are 
refreshed;  or  produce  a  volume  of  Plato,  or  Shakspeare,  or  remind 
us  of  their  names,  and  instantly  we  come  into  a  feeling  of  longevity. 
See  how  the  deep,  divine  thought  reduces  centuries,  and  millenniums, 
and  makes  itself  present  through  all  ages.  Is  the  teaching  of  Christ 
less  effective  now  than  it  was  when  first  his  mouth  was  opened? 
The  emphasis  of  facts  and  persons  in  my  thought  has  nothing  to  do 
with  tune.  And  so,  always,  the  soul's  scale  is  one;  the  scale  of  the 
senses  and  the  understanding  is  another.  Before  the  revelations  of 


366  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  soul,  Time,  Space,  and  Nature  shrink  away.  In  common  speech, 
we  refer  all  things  to  time,  as  we  habitually  refer  the  immensely 
sundered  stars  to  one  concave  sphere.  And  so  we  say  that  the 
Judgment  is  distant  or  near,  that  the  Millennium  approaches,  that 
a  day  of  certain  political,  moral,  social  reforms  is  at  hand,  and  the 
like,  when  we  mean,  that,  in  the  nature  of  things,  one  of  the  facts  we 
contemplate  is  external  and  fugitive,  and  the  other  is  permanent  and 
connate  with  the  soul.  The  things  we  now  esteem  fixed  shall,  one 
by  one,  detach  themselves,  like  ripe  fruit,  from  our  experience,  and 
fall.  The  wind  shall  blow  them  none  knows  whither.  The  land- 
scape, the  figures,  Boston,  London,  are  facts  as  fugitive  as  any  insti- 
tution past,  or  any  whiff  of  mist  or  smoke,  and  so  is  society,  and  so 
is  the  world.  The  soul  looketh  steadily  forwards,  creating  a  world 
before  her,  leaving  worlds  behind  her.  She  has  no  dates,  nor  rites, 
nor  persons,  nor  specialities,  nor  men.  The  soul  knows  only  the  soul; 
the  web  of  events  is  the  flowing  robe  in  which  she  is  clothed. 

After  its  own  law  and  not  by  arithmetic  is  the  rate  of  its  progress 
to  be  computed.  The  soul's  advances  are  not  made  by  gradation, 
such  as  can  be  represented  by  motion  in  a  straight  line;  but  rather  by 
ascension  of  state,  such  as  can  be  represented  by  metamorphosis, — 
from  the  egg  to  the  worm,  from  the  worm  to  the  fly.  The  growths  of 
genius  are  of  a  certain  total  character,  that  does  not  advance  the  elect 
individual  first  over  John,  then  Adam,  then  Richard,  and  give  to  each 
the  pain  of  discovered  inferiority,  but  by  every  throe  of  growth  the 
man  expands  there  where  he  works,  passing,  at  each  pulsation,  classes, 
populations,  of  men.  With  each  divine  impulse  the  mind  rends  the 
thin  rinds  of  the  visible  and  finite,  and  comes  out  into  eternity,  and 
inspires  and  expires  its  air.  It  converses  with  truths  that  have 
always  been  spoken  in  the  world,  and  becomes  conscious  of  a  closer 
sympathy  with  Zeno  and  Arrian  than  with  persons  in  the  house. 

This  is  the  law  of  moral  and  of  mental  gain.  The  simple  rise 
as  by  specific  levity,  not  into  a  particular  virtue,  but  into  the  region 
of  all  the  virtues.  They  are  in  the  spirit  which  contains  them  all. 
The  soul  requires  purity,  but  purity  is  not  it;  requires  justice,  but 
justice  is  not  that;  requires  beneficence,  but  is  somewhat  better; 
so  that  there  is  a  kind  of  descent  and  accommodation  felt  when  we 
leave  speaking  of  moral  nature,  to  urge  a  virtue  which  it  enjoins. 
To  the  well-born  child,  all  the  virtues  are  natural,  and  not  painfully 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  367 

acquired.  Speak  to  his  heart,  and  the  man  becomes  suddenly 
virtuous. 

Within  the  same  sentiment  is  the  germ  of  intellectual  growth, 
which  obeys  the  same  law.  Those  who  are  capable  of  humility,  of 
justice,  of  love,  of  aspiration,  stand  already  on  a  platform  that  com- 
mands the  sciences  and  arts,  speech  and  poetry,  action  and  grace. 
For  whoso  dwells  in  this  moral  beatitude  already  anticipates  those 
special  powers  which  men  prize  so  highly.  The  lover  has  no 
talent,  no  skill,  which  passes  for  quite  nothing  with  his  enamored 
maiden,  however  little  she  may  possess  of  related  faculty;  and  the 
heart  which  abandons  itself  to  the  Supreme  Mind  finds  itself  related 
to  all  its  works,  and  will  travel  a  royal  road  to  particular  knowledges 
and  powers.  In  ascending  to  this  primary  and  aboriginal  sentiment, 
we  have  come  from  our  remote  station  on  the  circumference  instanta- 
neously to  the  centre  of  the  world,  where,  as  in  the  closet  of  God,  we 
see  causes,  and  anticipate  the  universe,  which  is  but  a  slow  effect. 

One  mode  of  the  divine  teaching  is  the  incarnation  of  the  spirit 
in  a  form, — in  forms,  like  my  own.  I  live  in  society;  with  persons 
who  answer  to  thoughts  in  my  own  mind,  or  express  a  certain  obedi- 
ence to  the  great  instincts  to  which  I  live.  I  see  its  presence  to  them. 
I  am  certified  of  a  common  nature;  and  these  other  souls,  these 
separated  selves,  draw  me  as  nothing  else  can.  They  stir  in  me  the 
new  emotions  we  call  passion;  of  love,  hatred,  fear,  admiration,  pity; 
thence  comes  conversation,  competition,  persuasion,  cities,  and  war. 
Persons  are  supplementary  to  the  primary  teaching  of  the  soul.  In 
youth  we  are  mad  for  persons.  Childhood  and  youth  see  all  the 
world  hi  them.  But  the  larger  experience  of  man  discovers  the 
identical  nature  appearing  through  them  all.  Persons  themselves 
acquaint  us  with  the  impersonal.  In  all  conversation  between  two 
persons,  tacit  reference  is  made,  as  to  a  third  party,  to  a  common 
nature.  That  third  party  or  common  nature  is  not  social;  it  is 
impersonal;  is  God.  And  so  in  groups  where  debate  is  earnest,  and 
especially  on  high  questions,  the  company  become  aware  that  the 
thought  rises  to  an  equal  level  in  all  bosoms,  that  all  have  a  spiritual 
property  in  what  was  said,  as  well  as  the  sayer.  They  all  become 
wiser  than  they  were.  It  arches  over  them  like  a  temple,  this  unity 
of  thought,  in  which  every  heart  beats  with  nobler  sense  of  power  and 
duty,  and  thinks  and  acts  with  unusual  solemnity.  All  are  conscious 


368  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  attaining  to  a  higher  self-possession.  It  shines  for  all.  There 
is  a  certain  wisdom  of  humanity  which  is  common  to  the  greatest 
men  with  the  lowest,  and  which  our  ordinary  education  often  labors 
to  silence  and  obstruct.  The  mind  is  one,  and  the  best  minds,  who 
love  truth  for  its  own  sake,  think  much  less  of  property  in  truth. 
They  accept  it  thankfully  everywhere,  and  do  not  label  or  stamp  it 
with  any  man's  name,  for  it  is  theirs  long  beforehand,  and  from 
eternity.  The  learned  and  the  studious  of  thought  have  no  monopoly 
of  wisdom.  Their  violence  of  direction  in  some  degree  disqualifies 
them  to  think  truly.  We  owe  many  valuable  observations  to  people 
who  are  not  very  acute  or  profound,  and  who  say  the  thing  without 
effort,  which  we  want  and  have  long  been  hunting  hi  vain.  The 
action  of  the  soul  is  oftener  in  that  which  is  felt  and  left  unsaid,  than 
in  that  which  is  said  in  any  conversation.  It  broods  over  every 
society,  and  they  unconsciously  seek  for  it  in  each  other.  We  know 
better  than  we  do.  We  do  not  yet  possess  ourselves,  and  we  know 
at  the  same  time  that  we  are  much  more.  I  feel  the  same  truth  how 
often  hi  my  trivial  conversation  with  my  neighbours,  that  somewhat 
higher  hi  each  of  us  overlooks  this  by-play,  and  Jove  nods  to  Jove 
from  behind  each  of  us. 

Men  descend  to  meet.  In  their  habitual  and  mean  service  to  the 
world,  for  which  they  forsake  their  native  nobleness,  they  resemble 
those  Arabian  sheiks,  who  dwell  in  mean  houses,  and  affect  an  external 
poverty,  to  escape  the  rapacity  of  the  Pacha,  and  reserve  all  their 
display  of  wealth  for  their  ulterior  and  guarded  retirements. 

As  it  is  present  in  all  persons,  so  it  is  in  every  period  of  life.  It 
is  adult  already  in  the  infant  man.  In  my  dealing  with  my  child, 
my  Latin  and  Greek,  my  accomplishments  and  my  money  stead  me 
nothing;  but  as  much  soul  as  I  have  avails.  If  I  am  wilful,  he  sets 
his  will  against  mine,  one  for  one,  and  leaves  me,  if  I  please,  the 
degradation  of  beating  him  by  my  superiority  of  strength.  But  if 
I  renounce  my  will,  and  act  for  the  soul,  setting  that  up  as  umpire 
between  us  two,  out  of  his  young  eyes  looks  the  same  soul;  he  reveres 
and  loves  with  me. 

The  soul  is  the  perceiver  and  revealer  of  truth.  We  know  truth 
when  we  see  it,  let  skeptic  and  scoffer  say  what  they  choose.  Foolish 
people  ask  you,  when  you  have  spoken  what  they  do  not  wish  to  hear, 
"How  do  you  know  it  is  truth,  and  not  an  error  of  your  own ?"  We 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  369 

know  truth  when  we  see  it,  from  opinion,  as  we  know  when  we  are 
awake  that  we  are  awake.  It  was  a  grand  sentence  of  Emanuel 
Swedenborg,  which  would  alone  indicate  the  greatness  of  that  man's 
perception, — "It  is  no  proof  of  a  man's  understanding  to  be  able  to 
confirm  whatever  he  pleases;  but  to  be  able  to  discern  that  what  is 
true  is  true,  and  that  what  is  false  is  false,  this  is  the  mark  and 
character  of  intelligence."  In  the  book  I  read,  the  good  thought 
returns  to  me,  as  every  truth  will,  the  image  of  the  whole  soul.  To  the 
bad  thought  which  I  find  in  it,  the  same  soul  becomes  a  discerning, 
separating  sword,  and  lops  it  away.  We  are  wiser  than  we  know. 
If  we  will  not  interfere  with  our  thought,  but  will  act  entirely,  or  see 
how  the  thing  stands  in  God,  we  know  the  particular  thing,  and  every 
thing,  and  every  man.  For  the  Maker  of  all  things  and  all  persons 
stands  behind  us,  and  casts  his  dread  omniscience  through  us  over 
things. 

But  beyond  this  recognition  of  its  own  in  particular  passages  of 
the  individual's  experience,  it  also  reveals  truth.  And  here  we 
should  seek  to  reinforce  ourselves  by  its  very  presence,  and  to  speak 
with  a  worthier,  loftier  strain  of  that  advent.  For  the  soul's  com- 
munication of  truth  is  the  highest  event  in  nature,  since  it  then  does 
not  give  somewhat  from  itself,  but  it  gives  itself,  or  passes  into  and 
becomes  that  man  whom  it  enlightens;  or,  in  proportion  to  that 
truth  he  receives,  it  takes  him  to  itself. 

We  distinguish  the  announcements  of  the  soul,  its  manifestations 
of  its  own  nature,  by  the  term  Revelation.  These  are  always  attended 
by  the  emotion  of  the  sublime.  For  this  communication  is  an  influx 
of  the  Divine  mind  into  our  mind.  It  is  an  ebb  of  the  individual 
rivulet  before  the  flowing  surges  of  the  sea  of  life.  Every  distinct 
apprehension  of  this  central  commandment  agitates  men  with  awe 
and  delight.  A  thrill  passes  through  all  men  at  the  reception  of  new 
truth,  or  at  the  performance  of  a  great  action,  which  comes  out  of  the 
heart  of  nature.  In  these  communications,  the  power  to  see  is  not 
separated  from  the  will  to  do,  but  the  insight  proceeds  from  obedience, 
and  the  obedience  proceeds  from  a  joyful  perception.  Every  moment 
when  the  individual  feels  himself  invaded  by  it  is  memorable.  By 
the  necessity  of  our  constitution,  a  certain  enthusiasm  attends  the 
individual's  consciousness  of  that  divine  presence.  The  character 
and  duration  of  this  enthusiasm  varies  with  the  state  of  the  individual, 


370  AMERICAN  PROSE 


from  an  ecstasy  and  trance  and  prophetic  inspiration, — which  is  its 
rarer  appearance, — to  the  faintest  glow  of  virtuous  emotion,  in  which 
form  it  warms,  like  our  household  fires,  all  the  families  and  asso- 
ciations of  men,  and  makes  society  possible.  A  certain  tendency 
to  insanity  has  always  attended  the  opening  of  the  religious  sense 
in  men,  as  if  they  had  been  "blasted  with  excess  of  light."  The 
trances  of  Socrates,  the  "union"  of  Plotinus,  the  vision  of  Por- 
phyry, the  conversion  of  Paul,  the  aurora  of  Behmen,  the  convulsions 
of  George  Fox  and  his  Quakers,  the  illumination  of  Swedenborg,  are  of 
this  kind.  What  was  in  the  case  of  these  remarkable  persons  a 
ravishment  has,  in  innumerable  instances  hi  common  life,  been 
exhibited  in  less  striking  manner.  Everywhere  the  history  of  religion 
betrays  a  tendency  to  enthusiasm.  The  rapture  of  the  Moravian  and 
Quietist;  the  opening  of  the  internal  sense  of  the  Word,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  New  Jerusalem  Church;  the  revival  of  the  Calvinistic 
churches;  the  experiences  of  the  Methodists,  are  varying  forms  of  that 
shudder  of  awe  and  delight  with  which  the  individual  soul  always 
mingles  with  the  universal  soul. 

The  nature  of  these  revelations  is  the  same ;  they  are  perceptions 
of  the  absolute  law.  They  are  solutions  of  the  soul's  own  questions. 
They  do  not  answer  the  questions  which  the  understanding  asks. 
The  soul  answers  never  by  words,  but  by  the  thing  itself  that  is 
inquired  after. 

Revelation  is  the  disclosure  of  the  soul.  The  popular  notion  of 
a  revelation  is,  that  it  is  a  telling  of  fortunes.  In  past  oracles  of  the 
soul,  the  understanding  seeks  to  find  answers  to  sensual  questions, 
and  undertakes  to  tell  from  God  how  long  men  shall  exist,  what  their 
hand  shall  do,  and  who  shall  be  their  company,  adding  names,  and 
dates,'  and  places.  But  we  must  pick  no  locks.  We  must  check 
this  low  curiosity.  An  answer  in  words  is  delusive;  it  is  really  no 
answer  to  the  questions  you  ask.  Do  not  require  a  description  of  the 
countries  towards  which  you  sail.  The  description  does  not  describe 
them  to  you,  and  to-morrow  you  arrive  there,  and  know  them  by 
inhabiting  them.  Men  ask  concerning  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
the  employments  of  heaven,  the  state  of  the  sinner,  and  so  forth. 
They  even  dream  that  Jesus  has  left  replies  to  precisely  these  inter- 
rogatories. Never  a  moment  did  that  sublime  spirit  speak  in  their 
patois.  To  truth,  justice,  love,  the  attributes  of  the  soul,  the  idea  of 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  371 

immutableness  is  essentially  associated.  Jesus,  living  in  these  moral 
sentiments,  heedless  of  sensual  fortunes,  heeding  only  the  manifes- 
tations of  these,  never  made  the  separation  of  the  idea  of  duration 
from  the  essence  of  these  attributes,  nor  uttered  a  syllable  concern- 
ing the  duration  of  the  soul.  It  was  left  to  his  disciples  to  sever 
duration  from  the  moral  elements,  and  to  teach  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  as  a  doctrine,  and  maintain  it  by  evidences.  The 
moment  the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  is  separately  taught, 
man  is  already  fallen.  In  the  flowing  of  love,  in  the  adoration  of 
humility,  there  is  no  question  of  continuance.  No  inspired  man  ever 
asks  this  question,  or  condescends  to  these  evidences.  For  the 
soul  is  true  to  itself,  and  the  man  in  whom  it  is  shed  abroad  cannot 
wander  from  the  present,  which  is  infinite,  to  a  future  which  would 
be  finite. 

These  questions  which  we  lust  to  ask  about  the  future  are  a  con- 
fession of  sin.  God  has  no  answer  for  them.  No  answer  in  words 
can  reply  to  a  question  of  things.  It  is  not  in  an  arbitrary  "decree  of 
God,"  but  in  the  nature  of  man,  that  a  veil  shuts  down  on  the  facts 
of  to-morrow;  for  the  soul  will  not  have  us  read  any  other  cipher 
than  that  of  cause  and  effect.  By  this  veil,  which  curtains  events,  it 
instructs  the  children  of  men  to  live  in  to-day.  The  only  mode  of 
obtaining  an  answer  to  these  questions  of  the  senses  is  to  forego  all 
low  curiosity,  and,  accepting  the  tide  of  being  which  floats  us  into 
the  secret  of  nature,  work  and  live,  work  and  live,  and  all  unawares 
the  advancing  soul  has  built  and  forged  for  itself  a  new  condition, 
and  the  question  and  the  answer  are  one. 

By  the  same  fire,  vital,  consecrating,  celestial,  which  burns 
until  it  shall  dissolve  all  things  into  the  waves  and  surges  of  an  ocean 
of  light,  we  see  and  know  each  other,  and  what  spirit  each  is  of. 
Who  can  tell  the  grounds  of  his  knowledge  of  the  character  of  the 
several  individuals  in  his  circle  of  friends?  No  man.  Yet  their 
acts  and  words  do  not  disappoint  him.  In  that  man,  though  he 
knew  no  ill  of  him,  he  put  no  trust.  In  that  other,  though  they  had 
seldom  met,  authentic  signs  had  yet  passed,  to  signify  that  he  might 
be  trusted  as  one  who  had  an  interest  in  his  own  character.  We  know 
each  other  very  well, — which  of  us  has  been  just  to  himself,  and 
whether  that  which  we  teach  or  behold  is  only  an  aspiration,  or  is 
our  honest  effort  also. 


372  AMERICAN  PROSE 


We  are  all  discerners  of  spirits.  That  diagnosis  lies  aloft  in  our 
life  or  unconscious  power.  The  intercourse  of  society, — its  trade, 
its  religion,  its  friendships,  its  quarrels, — is  one  wide,  judicial  investi- 
gation of  character.  In  full  court,  or  in  small  committee,  or  con- 
fronted face  to  face,  accuser  and  accused,  men  offer  themselves  to 
be  judged.  Against  their  will  they  exhibit  those  decisive  trifles  by 
which  character  is  read.  But  who  judges  ?  and  what  ?  Not  our 
understanding.  We  do  not  read  them  by  learning  or  craft.  No; 
the  wisdom  of  the  wise  man  consists  herein,  that  he  does  not  judge 
them;  he  lets  them  judge  themselves,  and  merely  reads  and  records 
their  own  verdict. 

By  virtue  of  this  inevitable  nature,  private  will  is  overpowered, 
and,  maugre  our  efforts  or  our  imperfections,  your  genius  will  speak 
from  you,  and  mine  from  me.  That  which  we  are,  we  shall  teach, 
not  voluntarily,  but  involuntarily.  Thoughts  come  into  our  minds 
by  avenues  which  we  never  left  open,  and  thoughts  go  out  of  our 
minds  through  avenues  which  we  never  voluntarily  opened.  Char- 
acter teaches  over  our  head.  The  infallible  index  of  true  progress 
is  found  in  the  tone  the  man  takes.  Neither  his  age,  nor  his  breeding, 
nor  company,  nor  books,  nor  actions,  nor  talents,  nor  all  together,  can 
hinder  him  from  being  deferential  to  a  higher  spirit  than  his  own.  If 
he  have  not  found  his  home  in  God,  his  manners,  his  forms  of  speech, 
the  turn  of  his  sentences,  the  build,  shall  I  say,  of  all  his  opinions, 
will  involuntarily  confess  it,  let  him  brave  it  out  how  he  will.  If  he 
have  found  his  centre,  the  Deity  will  shine  through  him,  through  all 
the  disguises  of  ignorance,  of  ungenial  temperament,  of  unfavorable 
circumstance.  The  tone  of  seeking  is  one,  and  the  tone  of  having  is 
another. 

The  great  distinction  between  teachers  sacred  or  literary, — 
between  poets  like  Herbert,  and  poets  like  Pope, — between  phi- 
losophers like  Spinoza,  Kant,  and  Coleridge,  and  philosophers  like 
Locke,  Paley,  Mackintosh,  and  Stewart, — between  men  of  the  world, 
who  are  reckoned  accomplished  talkers,  and  here  and  there  a  fervent 
mystic,  prophesying,  half-insane  under  the  infinitude  of  his  thought, 
— is,  that  one  class  speak  from  within,  or  from  experience,  as  parties 
and  possessors  of  the  fact;  and  the  other  class,  from  without,  as 
spectators  merely,  or  perhaps  as  acquainted  with  the  fact  on  the 
evidence  of  third  persons.  It  is  of  no  use  to  preach  to  me  from  with- 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  .    373 

out.  I  can  do  that  too  easily  myself.  Jesus  speaks  always  from 
within,  and  in  a  degree  that  transcends  all  others.  In  that  is  the 
miracle.  I  believe  beforehand  that  it  ought  so  to  be.  All  men  stand 
continually  in  the  expectation  of  the  appearance  of  such  a  teacher. 
But  if  a  man  do  not  speak  from  within  the  veil,  where  the  word  is  one 
with  that  it  tells  of,  let  him  lowly  confess  it. 

The  same  Omniscience  flows  into  the  intellect,  and  makes  what 
we  call  genius.  Much  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world  is  not  wisdom,  and 
the  most  illuminated  class  of  men  are  no  doubt  superior  to  literary 
fame,  and  are  not  writers.  Among  the  multitude  of  scholars  and 
authors,  we  feel  no  hallowing  presence;  we  are  sensible  of  a  knack 
and  skill  rather  than  of  inspiration;  they  have  a  light,  and  know  not 
whence  it  comes,  and  call  it  their  own;  their  talent  is  some  exagger- 
ated faculty,  some  overgrown  member,  so  that  their  strength  is  a 
disease.  In  these  instances  the  intellectual  gifts  do  not  make  the 
impression  of  virtue,  but  almost  of  vice;  and  we  feel  that  a  man's 
talents  stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  in  truth.  But  genius  is 
religious.  It  is  a  larger  imbibing  of  the  common  heart.  It  is  not 
anomalous,  but  more  like,  and  not  less  like  other  men.  There  is, 
in  all  great  poets,  a  wisdom  of  humanity  which  is  superior  to  any 
talents  they  exercise.  The  author,  the  wit,  the  partisan,  the  fine 
gentleman,  does  not  take  place  of  the  man.  Humanity  shines  in 
Homer,  in  Chaucer,  hi  Spenser,  in  Shakspeare,  hi  Milton.  They  are 
content  with  truth.  They  use  the  positive  degree.  They  seem 
frigid  and  phlegmatic  to  those  who  have  been  spiced  with  the  frantic 
passion  and  violent  coloring  of  inferior,  but  popular  writers.  For 
they  are  poets  by  the  free  course  which  they  allow  to  the  informing 
soul,  which  through  their  eyes  beholds  again,  and  blesses  the  things 
which  it  hath  made.  The  soul  is  superior  to  its  knowledge;  wiser 
than  any  of  its  works.  The  great  poet  makes  us  feel  our  own  wealth, 
and  then  we  think  less  of  his  compositions.  His  best  communi- 
cation to  our  mind  is  to  teach  us  to  despise  all  he  has  done.  Shak- 
speare carries  us  to  such  a  lofty  strain  of  intelligent  activity,  as  to 
suggest  a  wealth  which  beggars  his  own;  and  we  then  feel  that  the 
splendid  works  which  he  has  created,  and  which  in  other  hours  we 
extol  as  a  sort  of  self-existent  poetry,  take  no  stronger  hold  of  real 
nature  than  the  shadow  of  a  passing  traveller  on  the  rock.  The 
inspiration  which  uttered  itself  in  Hamlet  and  Lear  could  utter  things 


374  AMERICAN  PROSE 


as  good  from  day  to  day,  for  ever.  Why,  then,  should  I  make  account 
of  Hamlet  and  Lear,  as  if  we  had  not  the  soul  from  which  they  fell  as 
syllables  from  the  tongue? 

This  energy  does  not  descend  into  individual  life  on  any  other 
condition  than  entire  possession.  It  comes  to  the  lowly  and  simple; 
it  comes  to  whomsoever  will  put  off  what  is  foreign  and  proud;  it 
comes  as  insight;  it  comes  as  serenity  and  grandeur.  When  we  see 
those  whom  it  inhabits,  we  are  apprized  of  new  degrees  of  greatness. 
From  that  inspiration  the  man  comes  back  with  a  changed  tone. 
He  does  not  talk  with  men  with  an  eye  to  their  opinion.  He  tries 
them.  It  requires  of  us  to  be  plain  and  true.  The  vain  traveller 
attempts  to  embellish  his  life  by  quoting  my  lord,  and  the  prince, 
and  the  countess,  who  thus  said  or  did  to  him.  The  ambitious  vulgar 
show  your  their  spoons,  and  brooches,  and  rings,  and  preserve  their 
cards  and  compliments.  The  more  cultivated,  in  their  account  of 
their  own  experience,  cull  out  the  pleasing,  poetic  circumstance, — 
the  visit  to  Rome,  the  man  of  genius  they  saw,  the  brilliant  friend  they 
know;  still  further  on,  perhaps,  the  gorgeous  landscape,  the  mountain 
lights,  the  mountain  thoughts,  they  enjoyed  yesterday, — and  so  seek 
to  throw  a  romantic  color  over  their  life.  But  the  soul  that  ascends 
to  worship  the  great  God  is  plain  and  true;  has  no  rose-color,  no  fine 
friends,  no  chivalry,  no  adventures;  does  not  want  admiration; 
dwells  in  the  hour  that  now  is,  in  the  earnest  experience  of  the  common 
day, — by  reason  of  the  present  moment  and  the  mere  trifle  having 
become  porous  to  thought,  and  bibulous  of  the  sea  of  light. 

Converse  with  a  mind  that  is  grandly  simple,  and  literature  looks 
like  word-catching.  The  simplest  utterances  are  worthiest  to  be 
written,  yet  are  they  so  cheap,  and  so  things  of  course,  that,  in  the 
infinite  riches  of  the  soul,  it  is  like  gathering  a  few  pebbles  off  the 
ground,  or  bottling  a  little  air  in  a  phial,  when  the  whole  earth  and 
the  whole  atmosphere  are  ours.  Nothing  can  pass  there,  or  make  you 
one  of  the  circle,  but  the  casting  aside  your  trappings,  and  dealing  man 
to  man  in  naked  truth,  plain  confession,  and  omniscient  affirmation. 

Souls  such  as  these  treat  you  as  gods  would,  walk  as  gods  in  the 
earth,  accepting  without  any  admiration  your  wit,  your  bounty,  your 
virtue  even, — say  rather  your  act  of  duty,  for  your  virtue  they  own 
as  their  proper  blood,  royal  as  themselves,  and  over-royal,  and  the 
father  of  the  gods.  But  what  rebuke  their  plain  fraternal  bearing 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  375 

casts  on  the  mutual  flattery  with  which  authors  solace  each  other 
and  wound  themselves!  These  flatter  not.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
these  men  go  to  see  Cromwell,  and  Christina,  and  Charles  the  Second, 
and  James  the  First,  and  the  Grand  Turk.  For  they  are,  in  their  own 
elevation,  the  fellows  of  kings,  and  must  feel  the  servile  tone  of  con- 
versation in  the  world.  They  must  always  be  a  godsend  to  princes, 
for  they  confront  them,  a  king  to  a  king,  without  ducking  or  con- 
cession, and  give  a  high  nature  the  refreshment  and  satisfaction  of 
resistance,  of  plain  humanity,  of  even  companionship,  and  of  new 
ideas.  They  leave  them  wiser  and  superior  men.  Souls  like  these 
make  us  feel  that  sincerity  is  more  excellent  than  flattery.  Deal  so 
plainly  with  man  and  woman,  as  to  constrain  the  utmost  sincerity, 
and  destroy  all  hope  of  trifling  with  you.  It  is  the  highest  compli- 
ment you  can  pay.  Their  "highest  praising,"  said  Milton,  "is  not 
flattery,  and  their  plainest  advice  is  a  kind  of  praising." 

Ineffable  is  the  union  of  man  and  God  in  every  act  of  the  soul. 
The  simplest  person,  who  in  his  integrity  worships  God,  becomes  God; 
yet  for  ever  and  ever  the  influx  of  this  better  and  universal  self  is  new 
and  unsearchable.  It  inspires  awe  and  astonishment.  How  dear, 
how  soothing  to  man,  arises  the  idea  of  God,  peopling  the  lonely  place, 
effacing  the  scars  of  our  mistakes  and  disappointments!  When  we 
have  broken  our  god  of  tradition,  and  ceased  from  our  god  of  rhetoric, 
then  may  God  fire  the  heart  with  his  presence.  It  is  the  doubling 
of  the  heart  itself,  nay,  the  infinite  enlargement  of  the  heart  with  a 
power  of  growth  to  a  new  infinity  on  every  side.  It  inspires  in  man 
an  infallible  trust.  He  has  not  the  conviction,  but  the  sight,  that 
the  best  is  the  true,  and  may  in  that  thought  easily  dismiss  all  par- 
ticular uncertainties  and  fears,  and  adjourn  to  the  sure  revelation  of 
time,  the  solution  of  his  private  riddles.  He  is  sure  that  his  welfare 
is  dear  to  the  heart  of  being.  In  the  presence  of  law  to  his  mind,  he 
is  overflowed  with  a  reliance  so  universal,  that  it  sweeps  away  all 
cherished  hopes  and  the  most  stable  projects  of  mortal  condition  in 
its  flood.  He  believes  that  he  cannot  escape  from  his  good.  The 
things  that  are  really  for  thee  gravitate  to  thee.  You  are  running 
to  seek  your  friend.  Let  your  feet  run,  but  your  mind  need  not.  If 
you  do  not  find  him,  will  you  not  acquiesce  that  it  is  best  you  should 
not  find  him  ?  for  there  is  a  power,  which,  as  it  is  in  you,  is  in  him  also, 
and  could  therefore  very  well  bring  you  together,  if  it  were  for  the 


376  AMERICAN  PROSE 


best.  You  are  preparing  with  eagerness  to  go  and  render  a  service 
to  which  your  talent  and  your  taste  invite  you,  the  love  of  men  and 
the  hope  of  fame.  Has  it  not  occurred  to  you,  that  you  have  no 
right  to  go,  unless  you  are  equally  willing  to  be  prevented  from  going  ? 
O,  believe,  as  thou  livest,  that  every  sound  that  is  spoken  over  the 
round  world,  which  thou  oughtest  to  hear,  will  vibrate  on  thine  earT 
Every  proverb,  every  book,  every  byword  that  belongs  to  thee  for 
aid  or  comfort,  shall  surely  come  home  through  open  or  winding 
passages.  Every  friend  whom  not  thy  fantastic  will,  but  the  great 
and  tender  heart  in  thee  craveth,  shall  lock  thee  in  his  embrace.  And 
this,  because  the  heart  in  thee  is  the  heart  of  all;  not  a  valve,  not 
a  wall,  not  an  intersection  is  there  anywhere  in  nature,  but  one  blood 
rolls  uninterruptedly  an  endless  circulation  through  all  men,  as  the 
water  of  the  globe  is  all  one  sea,  and,  truly  seen,  its  tide  is  one. 

Let  man,  then,  learn  the  revelation  of  all  nature  and  all  thought 
to  his  heart;  this,  namely;  that  the  Highest  dwells  with  him;  that 
the  sources  of  nature  are  in  his  own  mind,  if  the  sentiment  of  duty 
is  there.  But  if  he  would  know  what  the  great  God  speaketh,  he 
must  "go  into  his  closet  and  shut  the  door,"  as  Jesus  said.  God  will 
not  make  himself  manifest  to  cowards.  He  must  greatly  listen  to 
himself,  withdrawing  himself  from  all  the  accents  of  other  men's 
devotion.  Even  their  prayers  are  hurtful  to  him,  until  he  have  made 
his  own.  Our  religion  vulgarly  stands  on  numbers  of  believers. 
Whenever  the  appeal  is  made — no  matter  how  indirectly — to  num- 
bers, proclamation  is  then  and  there  made,  that  religion  is  not.  He 
that,  finds  God  a  sweet,  enveloping  thought  to  him  never  counts  his 
company.  When  I  sit  in  that  presence,  who  shall  dare  to  come  in  ? 
When  I  rest  in  perfect  humility,  when  I  burn  with  pure  love,  what 
can  Calvin  or  Swedenborg  say  ? 

It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  appeal  is  to  numbers  or  to 
one.  The  faith  that  stands  on  authority  is  not  faith.  The  reliance 
on  authority  measures  the  decline  of  religion,  the  withdrawal  of  the 
soul.  The  position  men  have  given  to  Jesus,  now  for  many  centuries 
of  history,  is  a  position  of  authority.  It  characterizes  themselves. 
It  cannot  alter  the  eternal  facts.  Great  is  the  soul,  and  plain.  It 
no  flatterer,  it  is  no  follower;  it  never  appeals  from  itself.  It 
in  itself.  Before  the  immense  possibilities  of  man,  all  mere  ex{ 
rience,  all  past  biography,  however  spotless  and  sainted,  shrir 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  377 

away.  Before  that  heaven  which  our  presentiments  foreshow  us, 
we  cannot  easily  praise  any  form  of  life  we  have  seen  or  read  of.  We 
not  only  affirm  that  we  have  few  great  men,  but,  absolutely  speaking, 
that  we  have  none;  that  we  have  no  history,  no  record  of  any  char- 
acter or  mode  of  living,  that  entirely  contents  us.  The  saints  and 
demigods  whom  history  worships  we  are  constrained  to  accept  with 
a  grain  of  allowance.  Though  in  our  lonely  hours  we  draw  a  new 
strength  out  of  their  memory,  yet,  pressed  on  our  attention,  as  they 
are  by  the  thoughtless  and  customary,  they  fatigue  and  invade.  The 
soul  gives  itself,  alone,  original,  and  pure,  to  the  Lonely,  Original,  and 
Pure,  who,  on  that  condition,  gladly  inhabits,  leads,  and  speaks 
through  it.  Then  is  it  glad,  young,  and  nimble.  It  is  not  wise,  but 
it  sees  through  all  things.  It  is  not  called  religious,  but  it  is  innocent. 
It  calls  the  light  its  own,  and  feels  that  the  grass  grows  and  the  stone 
falls  by  a  law  inferior  to,  and  dependent  on,  its  nature.  Behold,  it 
saith,  I  am  born  into  the  great,  the  universal  mind.  I,  the  imper- 
fect, adore  my  own  Perfect.  I  am  somehow  receptive  of  the  great 
soul,  and  thereby  I  do  overlook  the  sun  and  the  stars,  and  feel  them 
to  be  the  fair  accidents  and  effects  which  change  and  pass.  More  and 
more  the  surges  of  everlasting  nature  enter  into  me,  and  I  become 
public  and  human  in  my  regards  and  actions.  So  come  I  to  live  in 
thoughts,  and  act  with  energies,  which  are  immortal.  Thus  revering 
the  soul,  and  learning,  as  the  ancient  said,  that  "its  beauty  is  im- 
mense," man  will  come  to  see  that  the  world  is  the  perennial  miracle 
which  the  soul  worketh,  and  be  less  astonished  at  particular  wonders; 
he  will  learn  that  there  is  no  profane  history;  that  all  history  is  sacred ; 
that  the  universe  is  represented  in  an  atom,  in  a  moment  of  time. 
He  will  weave  no  longer  a  spotted  life  of  shreds  and  patches,  but  he 
will  live  with  a  divine  unity.  He  will  cease  from  what  is  base  and 
frivolous  in  his  life,  and  be  content  with  all  places  and  with  any 
service  he  can  render.  He  will  calmly  front  the  morrow  hi  the  negli- 
gency  of  that  trust  which  carries  God  with  it,  and  so  hath  already  the 
whole  future  in  the  bottom  of  the  heart. 

NATURE 

There  are  days  which  occur  in  this  climate,  at  almost  any  season 
of  the  year,  wherein  the  world  reaches  its  perfection,  when  the  air,  the 
heavenly  bodies,  and  the  earth,  make  a  harmony,  as  if  nature  would 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


indulge  her  offspring;  when,  in  these  bleak  upper  sides  of  the  planet, 
nothing  is  to  desire  that  we  have  heard  of  the  happiest  latitudes,  and 
we  bask  in  the  shining  hours  of  Florida  and  Cuba;  when  every  thing 
that  has  life  gives  sign  of  satisfaction,  and  the  cattle  that  lie  on  the 
ground  seem  to  have  great  and  tranquil  thoughts.  These  halcyons 
may  be  looked  for  with  a  little  more  assurance  in  that  pure  October 
weather,  which  we  distinguish  by  the  name  of  the  Indian  summer. 
The  day,  immeasurably  long,  sleeps  over  the  broad  hills  and  warm 
wide  fields.  To  have  lived  through  all  its  sunny  hours,  seems 
longevity  enough.  The  solitary  places  do  not  seem  quite  lonely. 
At  the  gates  of  the  forest,  the  surprised  man  of  the  world  is  forced  to 
leave  his  city  estimates  of  great  and  small,  wise  and  foolish.  The 
knapsack  of  custom  falls  off  his  back  with  the  first  step  he  makes  into 
these  precincts.  Here  is  sanctity  which  shames  our  religions,  and 
reality  which  discredits  our  heroes.  Here  we  find  nature  to  be  the 
circumstance  which  dwarfs  every  other  circumstance,  and  judges 
like  a  god  all  men  that  come  to  her.  We  have  crept  out  of  our  dose 
and  crowded  houses  into  the  night  and  morning,  and  we  see  what 
majestic  beauties  daily  wrap  us  in  their  bosom.  How  willingly  we 
would  escape  the  barriers  which  render  them  comparatively  impo- 
tent, escape  the  sophistication  and  second  thought,  and  suffer  nature 
to  intrance  us.  The  tempered  light  of  the  woods  is  like  a  perpetual 
morning,  and  is  stimulating  and  heroic.  The  anciently  reported 
spells  of  these  places  creep  on  us.  The  stems  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and 
oaks,  almost  gleam  like  iron  on  the  excited  eye.  The  incommuni- 
cable trees  begin  to  persuade  us  to  live  with  them,  and  quit  our  life 
of  solemn  trifles.  Here  no  history,  or  church,  or  state,  is  interpolated 
on  the  divine  sky  and  the  immortal  year.  How  easily  we  might  walk 
onward  into  the  opening  landscape,  absorbed  by  new  pictures,  and  by 
thoughts  fast  succeeding  each  other,  until  by  degrees  the  recollection 
of  home  was  crowded  out  of  the  mind,  all  memory  obliterated  by  the 
tyranny  of  the  present,  and  we  were  led  in  triumph  by  nature. 

These  enchantments  are  medicinal,  they  sober  and  heal  us. 
These  are  plain  pleasures,  kindly  and  native  to  us.  We  come  to  our 
own,  and  make  friends  with  matter,  which  the  ambitious  chatter  of  the 
schools  would  persuade  us  to  despise.  We  never  can  part  with  it; 
the  mind  loves  its  old  home:  as  water  to  our  thirst,  so  is  the  rock,  the 
ground,  to  our  eyes,  and  hands,  and  feet.  It  is  firm  water:  it  is  cold 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  379 

flame:  what  health,  what  affinity!  Ever  an  old  friend,  ever  like  a 
dear  friend  and  brother,  when  we  chat  affectedly  with  strangers, 
comes  in  this  honest  face,  and  takes  a  grave  liberty  with  us,  and 
shames  us  out  of  our  nonsense.  Cities  give  not  the  human  senses 
room  enough.  We  go  out  daily  and  nightly  to  feed  the  eyes  on  the 
horizon,  and  require  so  much  scope,  just  as  we  need  water  for  our 
bath.  There  are  all  degrees  of  natural  influence,  from  these  quaran- 
tine powers  of  nature,  up  to  her  dearest  and  gravest  ministrations  to 
the  imagination  and  the  soul.  There  is  the  bucket  of  cold  water 
from  the  spring,  the  wood-fire  to  which  the  chilled  traveller  rushes  for 
safety, — and  there  is  the  sublime  moral  of  autumn  and  of  noon.  We 
nestle  in  nature,  and  draw  our  living  as  parasites  from  her  roots  and 
grains,  and  we  receive  glances  from  the  heavenly  bodies,  which  call 
us  to  solitude,  and  foretell  the  remotest  future.  The  blue  zenith  is 
the  point  in  which  romance  and  reality  meet.  I  think,  if  we  should 
be  rapt  away  into  all  that  we  dream  of  heaven,  and  should  converse 
with  Gabriel  and  Uriel,  the  upper  sky  would  be  all  that  would  remain 
of  our  furniture. 

It  seems  as  if  the  day  was  not  wholly  profane,  in  which  we  have 
given  heed  to  some  natural  object.  The  fall  of  snowflakes  hi  a  still 
air,  preserving  to  each  crystal  its  perfect  form;  the  blowing  of  sleet 
over  a  wide  sheet  of  water,  and  over  plains;  the  waving  ryefield;  the 
mimic  waving  of  acres  of  houstonia,  whose  innumerable  florets 
whiten  and  ripple  before  the  eye;  the  reflections  of  trees  and  flowers 
in  glassy  lakes;  the  musical  steaming  odorous  south  wind,  which 
converts  all /trees  to  wind-harps;  the  crackling  and  spurting  of  hem- 
lock in  the  flames;  or  of  pine  logs,  which  yield  glory  to  the  walls  and 
faces  in  the  sittingroom, — these  are  the  music  and  pictures  of  the 
most  ancient  religion.  My  house  stands  in  low  land,  with  limited 
outlook,  and  on  the  skirt  of  the  village.  But  I  go  with  my  friend  to 
the  shore  of  our  little  river,  and  with  one  stroke  of  the  paddle,  I  leave 
the  village  politics  and  personalities,  yes,  and  the  world  of  villages 
and  personalities  behind,  and  pass  into  a  delicate  realm  of  sunset  and 
moonlight,  too  bright  almost  for  spotted  man  to  enter  without 
noviciate  and  probation.  We  penetrate  bodily  this  incredible 
beauty:  we  dip  our  hands  hi  this  painted  element:  our  eyes  are 
bathed  hi  these  lights  and  forms.  A  holiday,  a  villeggiatura,  a  royal- 
revel,  the  proudest,  most  heart-rejoicing  festival  that  valor  and 


380  AMERICAN  PROSE 


beauty,  power  and  taste,  ever  decked  and  enjoyed,  establishes  itself 
on  the  instant.  These  sunset  clouds,  these  delicately  emerging  stars, 
with  their  private  and  ineffable  glances,  signify  it  and  proffer  it. 
I  am  taught  the  poorness  of  our  invention,  the  ugliness  of  towns  and 
palaces.  Art  and  luxury  have  early  learned  that  they  must  work  as 
enhancement  and  sequel  to  this  original  beauty.  I  am  overinstructed 
for  my  return.  Henceforth  I  shall  be  hard  to  please.  I  cannot  go 
back  to  toys.  I  am  grown  expensive  and  sophisticated.  I  can  no 
longer  live  without  elegance:  but  a  countryman  shall  be  my  master 
of  revels.  He  who  knows  the  most,  he  who  knows  what  sweets  and 
virtues  are  in  the  ground,  the  waters,  the  plants,  the  heavens,  and 
how  to  come  at  these  enchantments,  is  the  rich  and  royal  man.  Only 
as  far  as  the  masters  of  the  world  have  called  in  nature  to  their  aid, 
can  they  reach  the  height  of  magnificence.  This  is  the  meaning  of 
their  hanging-gardens,  villas,  garden-houses,  islands,  parks,  and  pre- 
serves, to  back  their  faulty 'personality  with  these  strong  accessories. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  the  landed  interest  should  be  invincible  in  the 
state  with  these  dangerous  auxiliaries.  These  bribe  and  invite;  not 
kings,  not  palaces,  not  men,  not  women,  but  these  tender  and  poetic 
stars,  eloquent  of  secret  promises.  We  heard  what  the  rich  man  said, 
we  knew  of  his  villa,  his  grove,  his  wine,  and  his  company,  but  the 
provocation  and  point  of  the  invitation  came  out  of  these  beguiling 
stars.  In  their  soft  glances,  I  see  what  men  strove  to  realize  in  some 
Versailles,  or  Paphos,  or  Ctesiphon.  Indeed,  it  is  the  magical  lights 
of  the  horizon,  and  the  blue  sky  for  the  background,  which  save  all 
our  works  of  art,  which  were  otherwise  bawbles.  When  the  rich  tax 
the  poor  with  servility  and  obsequiousness,  they  should  consider  the 
effect  of  men  reputed  to  be  the  possessors  of  nature,  on  imaginative 
minds.  Ah!  if  the 'rich  were  rich  as  the  poor  fancy  riches!  A  boy 
hears  a  military  band  play  on  the  field  at  night,  and  he  has  kings  and 
queens,  and  famous  chivalry  palpably  before  him.  He  hears  the 
echoes  of  a  horn  in  a  hill  country,  in  the  Notch  Mountains,  for 
example,  which  converts  the  mountains  into  an  ^Eolian  harp,  and 
this  supernatural  tiralira  restores  to  him  the  Dorian  mythology, 
Apollo,  Diana,  and  all  divine  hunters  and  huntresses.  Can  a  musical 
note  be  so  lofty,  so  haughtily  beautiful!  To  the  poor  young  poet, 
thus  fabulous  is  his  picture  of  society;  he  is  loyal;  he  respects  the 
rich;  they  are  rich  for  the  sake  of  his  imagination;  how  poor  his 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  381 

fancy  would  be,  if  they  were  not  rich!  That  they  have  some  high- 
fenced  grove,  which  they  call  a  park;  that  they  live  in  larger  and 
better-garnished  saloons  than  he  has  visited,  and  go  in  coaches,  keep- 
ing only  the  society  of  the  elegant,  to  watering-places,  and  to  dis- 
tant cities,  are  the  groundwork  from  which  he  has  delineated  estates  of 
romance,  compared  with  which  their  actual  possessions  are  shanties 
and  paddocks.  The  muse  herself  betrays  her  son,  and  enhances  the 
gifts  of  wealth  and  well-born  beauty,  by  a  radiation  out  of  the  air, 
and  clouds,  and  forests  that  skirt  the  road, — a  certain  haughty  favor, 
as  if  from  patrician  genii  to  patricians,  a  kind  of  aristocracy  in  nature, 
a  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air. 

The  moral  sensibility  which  makes  Edens  and  Tempes  so  easily, 
may  not  be  always  found,  but  the  material  landscape  is  never  far  off. 
We  can  find  these  enchantments  without  visiting  the  Como  Lake, 
or  the  Madeira  Islands.  We  exaggerate  the  praises  of  local  scenery. 
In  every  landscape,  the  point  of  astonishment  is  the  meeting  of  the 
sky  and  the  earth,  and  that  is  seen  from  the  first  hillock  as  well  as 
from  the  top  of  the  Alleghanies.  The  stars  at  night  stoop  down  over 
the  brownest,  homeliest  common,  with  all  the  spiritual  magnificence 
which  they  shed  on  the  Campagna,  or  on  the  marble  desarts  of  Egypt. 
The  uprolled  clouds  and  the  colors  of  morning  and  evening,  will  trans- 
figure maples  and  alders.  The  difference  between  landscape  and 
landscape  is  small,  but  there  is  great  difference  in  the  beholders. 
There  is  nothing  so  wonderful  in  any  particular  landscape,  as  the 
necessity  of  being  beautiful  under  which  every  landscape  lies.  Nature 
cannot  be  surprised  in  undress.  Beauty  breaks  in  everywhere. 

But  it  is  very  easy  to  outrun  the  sympathy  of  readers  on  this 
topic,  which  schoolmen  called  natura  naturata,  or  nature  passive. 
One  can  hardly  speak  directly  of  it  without  excess.  It  is  as  easy  to 
broach  in  mixed  companies  what  is  called  "the  subject  of  religion." 
A  susceptible  person  does  not  like  to  indulge  his  tastes  in  this  kind, 
without  the  apology  of  some  trivial  necessity:  he  goes  to  see  a  wood- 
lot,  or  to  look  at  the  crops,  or  to  fetch  a  plant  or  a  mineral  from  a 
remote  locality,  or  he  carries  a  fowling-piece,  or  a  fishing-rod.  I 
suppose  this  shame  must  have  a  good  reason.  A  dilettantism  in 
nature  is  barren  and  unworthy.  The  fop  of  fields  is  no  better  than 
his  brother  of -Broadway.  Men  are  naturally  hunters  and  inquisitive 
of  wood-craft,  and  I  suppose  that  such  a  gazetteer  as  wood-cutters 


382  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  Indians  should  furnish  facts  for,  would  take  place  in  the  most 
sumptuous  drawing-rooms  of  all  the  "Wreaths"  and  "Flora's  chap- 
lets"  of  the  bookshops;  yet  ordinarily,  whether  we  are  too  clumsy 
for  so  subtle  a  topic,  or  from  whatever  cause,  as  soon  as  men  begin 
to  write  on  nature,  they  fall  into  euphuism.  Frivolity  is  a  most 
unfit  tribute  to  Pan,  who  ought  to  be  represented  in  the  mythology 
as  the  most  continent  of  gods.  I  would  not  be  frivolous  before  the 
admirable  reserve  and  prudence  of  time,  yet  I  cannot  renounce  the 
right  of  returning  often  to  this  old  topic.  The  multitude  of  false 
churches  accredits  the  true  religion.  Literature,  poetry,  science,  are 
the  homage  of  man  to  this  unfathomed  secret,  concerning  which  no 
sane  man  can  affect  an  indifference  or  incuriosity.  Nature  is  loved 
by  what  is  best  in  us.  It  is  loved  as  the  city  of  God,  although,  or 
rather  because  there  is  no  citizen.  The  sunset  is  unlike  anything 
that  is  underneath  it:  it  wants  men.  And  the  beauty  of  nature  must 
always  seem  unreal  and  mocking,  until  the  landscape  has  human 
figures,  that  are  as  good  as  itself.  If  there  were  good  men,  there 
would  never  be  this  rapture  in  nature.  If  the  king  is  in  the  palace, 
nobody  looks  at  the  walls.  It  is  when  he  is  gone,  and  the  house  is 
filled  with  grooms  and  gazers,  that  we  turn  from  the  people,  to  find 
relief  in  the  majestic  men  that  are  suggested  by  the  pictures  and  the 
architecture.  The  critics  who  complain  of  the  sickly  separation  of 
the  beauty  of  nature  from  the  thing  to  be  done,  must  consider  that 
our  hunting  of  the  picturesque  is  inseparable  from  our  protest  against 
false  society.  Man  is  fallen;  nature  is  erect,  and  serves  as  a  differ- 
ential thermometer,  detecting  the  presence  or  absence  of  the  divine 
sentiment  in  man.  By  fault  of  our  dulness  and  selfishness,  we  are 
looking  up  to  nature,  but  when  we  are  convalescent,  nature  will  look 
up  to  us.  We  see  the  foaming  brook  with  compunction:  if  our  own 
life  flowed  with  the  right  energy,  we  should  shame  the  brook.  The 
stream  of  zeal  sparkles  with  real  fire,  and  not  with  reflex  rays  of  sun 
and  moon.  Nature  may  be  as  selfishly  studied  as  trade.  Astron- 
omy to  the  sefish  becomes  astrology.  Psychology,  mesmerism  (with 
intent  to  show  where  our  spoons  are  gone) ;  and  anatomy  and  physi- 
ology become  phrenology  and  palmistry. 

But  taking  timely  warning,  and  leaving  many  things  unsaid  on 
this  topic,  let  us  not  longer  omit  our  homage  to  the  Efficient  Nature, 
natura  naturans,  the  quick  cause,  before  which  all  forms  flee  as  the 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  383 

driven  snows,  itself  secret,  its  works  driven  before  it  in  flocks  and 
multitudes,  (as  the  ancients  represented  nature  by  Proteus,  a  shep- 
herd,) and  in  undescribable  variety.  It  publishes  itself  in  creatures, 
reaching  from  particles  and  spicula,  through  transformation  on  trans- 
formation to  the  highest  symmetries,  arriving  at  consummate  results 
without  a  shock  or  a  leap.  A  little  heat,  that  is,  a  little  motion,  is  all 
that  differences  the  bald,  dazzling  white,  and  deadly  cold  poles  of  the 
earth  from  the  prolific  tropical  climates.  All  changes  pass  without 
violence,  by  reason  of  the  two  cardinal  conditions  of  boundless  space 
and  boundless  time.  Geology  has  initiated  us  into  the  secularity  of 
nature,  and  taught  us  to  disuse  our  dame-school  measures,  and 
exchange  our  Mosaic  and  Ptolemaic  schemes  for  her  large  style.  We 
knew  nothing  rightly,  for  want  of  perspective.  Now  we  learn  what 
patient  periods  must  round  themselves  before  the  rock  is  formed, 
then  before  the  rock  is  broken,  and  the  first  lichen  race  has  disinte- 
grated the  thinnest  external  plate  into  soil,  and  opened  the  door  for 
the  remote  Flora,  Fauna,  Ceres,  and  Pomona,  to  come  in.  How  far 
off  yet  is  the  trilobite!  how  far  the  quadruped!  how  inconceivably 
remote  is  man!  All  duly  arrive,  and  then  race  after  race  of  men.  It 
is  a  long  way  from  granite  to  the  oyster;  farther  yet  to  Plato,  and  the 
preaching  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Yet  all  must  come,  as 
surely  as  the  first  atom  has  two  sides. 

Motion  or  change,  and  identity  or  rest,  are  the  first  and  second 
secrets  of  nature:  Motion  and  Rest.  The  whole  code  of  her  laws 
may  be  written  on  the  thumbnail,  or  the  signet  of  a  ring.  The  whirl- 
ing bubble  on  the  surface  of  a  brook,  admits  us  to  the  secret  of  the 
mechanics  of  the  sky.  Every  shell  on  the  beach  is  a  key  to  it.  A 
little  water  made  to  rotate  in  a  cup  explains  the  formation  of  the 
simpler  shells;  the  addition  of  matter  from  year  to  year,  arrives  at 
last  at  the  most  complex  forms;  and  yet  so  poor  is  nature  with  all 
her  craft,  that,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  universe, 
she  has  but  one  stuff, — but  one  stuff  with  its  two  ends,  to  serve  up 
all  her  dream-like  variety.  Compound  it  how  she  will,  star, 
sand,  fire,  water,  tree,  man,  it  is  still  one  stuff,  and  betrays  the  same 
properties. 

Nature  is  always  consistent,  though  she  feigns  to  contravene  her 
own  laws.  She  keeps  her  laws,  and  seems  to  transcend  them.  She 
arms  and  equips  an  animal  to  find  its  place  and  living  in  the  earth, 


384  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and,  at  the  same  time,  she  arms  and  equips  another  animal  to  destroy 
it.  Space  exists  to  divide  creatures;  but  by  clothing  the  sides  of  a 
bird  with  a  few  feathers,  she  gives  him  a  petty  omnipresence.  The 
direction  is  forever  onward,  but  the  artist  still  goes  back  for  materials, 
and  begins  again  with  the  first  elements  on  the  most  advanced  stage: 
otherwise,  all  goes  to  ruin.  If  we  look  at  her  work,  we  seem  to  catch 
a  glance  of  a  system  in  transition.  Plants  are  the  young  of  the  world, 
vessels  of  health  and  vigor;  but  they  grope  ever  upward  towards 
consciousness;  the  trees  are  imperfect  men,  and  seem  to  bemoan  their 
imprisonment,  rooted  in  the  ground.  The  animal  is  the  novice  and 
probationer  of  a  more  advanced  order.  The  men,  though  young, 
having  tasted  the  first  drop  from  the  cup  of  thought,  are  already 
dissipated:  the  maples  and  ferns  are  still  uncorrupt;  yet  no  doubt, 
when  they  come  to  consciousness,  they  too  will  curse  and  swear. 
Flowers  so  strictly  belong  to  youth,  that  we  adult  men  soon  come  to 
feel,  that  their  beautiful  generations  concern  not  us:  we  have  had  our 
day;  now  let  the  children  have  theirs.  The  flowers  jilt  us,  and  we 
are  old  bachelors  with  our  ridiculous  tenderness. 

Things  are  so  strictly  related,  that  according  to  the  skill  of  the 
eye,  from  any  one  object  the  parts  and  properties  of  any  other  may 
be  predicted.  If  we  had  eyes  to  see  it,  a  bit  of  stone  from  the  city 
wall  would  certify  us  of  the  necessity  that  man  must  exist,  as  readily 
as  the  city.  That  identity  makes  us  all  one,  and  reduces  to  nothing 
great  intervals  on  our  customary  scale.  We  talk  of  deviations  from 
natural  life,  as  if  artificial  life  were  not  also  natural.  The  smoothest 
curled  courtier  in  the  boudoirs  of  a  palace  has  an  animal  nature,  rude 
and  aboriginal  as  a  white  bear,  omnipotent  to  its  own  ends,  and  is 
directly  related,  there  amid  essences  and  billetsdoux,  to  Himmaleh 
mountain-chains,  and  the  axis  of  the  globe.  If  we  consider  how 
much  we  are  nature's,  we  need  not  be  superstitious  about  towns,  as 
if  that  terrific  or  benefic  force  did  not  find  us  there  also,  and  fashion 
cities.  Nature,  who  made  the  mason,  made  the  house.  We  may 
easily  hear  too  much  of  rural  influences.  The  cool  disengaged  air 
of  natural  objects,  makes  them  enviable  to  us,  chafed  and  irritable 
creatures  with  red  faces,  and  we  think  we  shall  be  as  grand  as  they, 
if  we  camp  out  and  eat  roots;  but  let  us  be  men  instead  of  wood- 
chucks,  and  the  oak  and  the  elm  shall  gladly  serve  us,  though  we  sit 
in  chairs  of  ivory  on  carpets  of  silk. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  385 

This  guiding  identity  runs  through  all  the  surprises  and  contrasts 
of  the  piece,  and  characterizes  every  law.  Man  carries  the  world 
in  his  head,  the  whole  astronomy  and  chemistry  suspended  in  a 
thought.  Because  the  history  of  nature  is  charactered  in  his  brain, 
therefore  is  he  the  prophet  and  discoverer  of  her  secrets.  Every 
known  fact  in  natural  science  was  divined  by  the  presentiment  of 
somebody,  before  it  was  actually  verified.  A  man  does  not  tie  his 
shoe  without  recognizing  laws  which  bind  the  farthest  regions  of 
nature:  moon,  plant,  gas,  crystal,  are  concrete  geometry  and  num- 
bers. Common  sense  knows  its  own,  and  recognizes  the  fact  at  first 
sight  in  chemical  experiment.  The  common  sense  of  Franklin, 
Dalton,  Davy,  and  Black,  is  the  same  common  sense  which  made  the 
arrangements  which  now  it  discovers. 

If  the  identity  expresses  organized  rest,  the  counter  action  runs 
also  into  organization.  The  astronomers  said,  "Give  us  matter,  and 
a  little  motion,  and  we  will  construct  the  universe.  It  is  not  enough 
that  we  should  have  matter,  we  must  also  have  a  single  impulse,  one 
shove  to  launch  the  mass,  and  generate  the  harmony  of  the  centrif- 
ugal and  centripetal  forces.  Once  heave  the  ball  from  the  hand,  and 
we  can  show  how  all  this  mighty  order  grew." — "A  very  unreasonable 
postulate,"  said  the  metaphysicians,  "and  a  plain  begging  of  the 
question.  Could  you  not  prevail  to  know  the  genesis  of  projection, 
as  well  as  the  continuation  of  it?"  Nature,  meanwhile,  had  not 
waited  for  the  discussion,  but,  right  or  wrong,  bestowed  the  impulse, 
and  the  balls  rolled.  It  was  no  great  affair,  a  mere  push,  but  the 
astronomers  were  right  in  making  much  of  it,  for  there  is  no  end  to 
the  consequences  of  the  act.  That  famous  aboriginal  push  propagates 
itself  through  all  the  balls  of  the  system,  and  through  every  atom  of 
every  ball,  through  all  the  races  of  creatures,  and  through  the  history 
and  performances  of  every  individual.  Exaggeration  is  in  the  course 
of  things.  Nature  sends  no  creature,  no  man  into  the  world,  with- 
out adding  a  small  excess  of  his  proper  quality.  Given  the  planet, 
it  is  still  necessary  to  add  the  impulse;  so,  to  every  creature  nature 
added  a  little  violence  of  direction  in  its  proper  path,  a  shove  to  put 
it  on  its  way;  in  every  instance,  a  slight  generosity,  a  drop  too  much. 
Without  electricity  the  air  would  rot,  and  without  this  violence  of 
direction,  which  men  and  women  have,  without  a  spice  of  bigot  and 
fanatic,  no  excitement,  no  efficiency.  We  aim  above  the  mark,  to 


386  AMERICAN  PROSE 


hit  the  mark.  Every  act  hath  some  falsehood  of  exaggeration  in  it. 
And  when  now  and  then  comes  along  some  sad,  sharp-eyed  man, 
who  sees  how  paltry  a  game  is  played,  and  refuses  to  play,  but  blabs 
the  secret ; — how  then  ?  is  the  bird  flown.  O  no,  the  wary  Nature 
sends  a  new  troop  of  fairer  forms,  pf  lordlier  youths,  with  a  little 
more  excess  of  direction  to  hold  them  fast  to  their  several  aim;  makes 
them  a  little  wrong-headed  in  that  direction  in  which  they  are  rightest, 
and  on  goes  the  game  again  with  new  whirl,  for  a  generation  or  two 
more.  The  child  with  his  sweet  pranks,  the  fool  of  his  senses,  com- 
manded by  every  sight  and  sound,  without  any  power  to  compare  and 
rank  his  sensations,  abandoned  to  a  whistle  or  a  painted  chip,  to  a 
lead  dragoon,  or  a  gingerbread-dog,  individualizing  everything, 
generalizing  nothing,  delighted  with  every  new  thing,  lies  down  at 
night  overpowered  by  the  fatigue,  which  this  day  of  continual  pretty 
madness  has  incurred.  But  Nature  has  answered  her  purpose  with 
the  curly,  dimpled  lunatic.  She  has  tasked  every  faculty,  and  has 
secured  the  symmetrical  growth  of  the  bodily  frame,  by  all  these 
attitudes  and  exertions, — an  end  of  the  first  importance,  which  could 
not  be  trusted  to  any  care  less  perfect  than  her  own.  This  glitter, 
this  opaline  lustre  plays  round  the  top  of  every  toy  to  his  eye,  to 
insure  his  fidelity,  and  he  is  deceived  to  his  good.  We  are  made  alive 
and  kept  alive  by  the  same  arts.  Let  the  stoics  say  what  they  please, 
we  do  not  eat  for  the  good  of  living,  but  because  the  meat  is  savory 
and  the  appetite  is  keen.  The  vegetable  life  does  not  content  itself 
with  casting  from  the  flower  or  the  tree  a  single  seed,  but  it  fills  the 
air  and  earth  with  a  prodigality  of  seeds,  that,  if  thousands  perish, 
thousands  may  plant  themselves,  that  hundreds  may  come  up,  that 
tens  may  live  to  maturity,  that,  at  least,  one  may  replace  the  parent. 
All  things  betray  the  same  calculated  profusion.  The  excess  of  fear 
with  which  the  animal  frame  is  hedged  round,  shrinking  from  cold, 
starting  at  sight  of  a  snake,  or  at  a  sudden  noise,  protects  us,  through 
a  multitude  of  groundless  alarms,  from  some  one  real  danger  at  last. 
The  lover  seeks  in  marriage  his  private  felicity  and  perfection,  with 
no  prospective  end;  and  nature  hides  in  his  happiness  her  own  end, 
namely,  progeny,  or  the  perpetuity  of  the  race. 

But  the  craft  with  which  the  world  is  made,  runs  also  into  the 
mind  and  character  of  men.  No  man  is  quite  sane;  each  has  a  vein 
of  folly  in  his  composition,  a  slight  determination  of  blood  to  the  head, 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  387 

to  make  sure  of  holding  him  hard  to  some  one  point  which  nature 
had  taken  to  heart.  Great  causes  are  never  tried  on  their  merits; 
but  the  cause  is  reduced  to  particulars  to  suit  the  size  of  the  partisans, 
and  the  contention  is  ever  hottest  on  minor  matters.  Not  less 
remarkable  is  the  overfaith  of  each  man  in  the  importance  of  what 
he  has  to  do  or  say.  The  poet,  the  prophet,  has  a  higher  value  for 
what  he  utters  than  any  hearer,  and  therefore  it  gets  spoken.  The 
strong,  self-complacent  Luther  declares  with  an  emphasis,  not  to  be 
mistaken,  that  "God  himself  cannot  do  without  wise  men."  Jacob 
Behmen  and  George  Fox  betray  their  egotism  in  the  pertinacity  of 
their  controversial  tracts,  and  James  Naylor  once  suffered  himself 
to  be  worshipped  as  the  Christ.  Each  prophet  comes  presently  to 
identify  himself  with  his  thought,  and  to  esteem  his  hat  and  shoes 
sacred.  However  this  may  discredit  such  persons  with  the  judicious, 
it  helps  them  with  the  people,  as  it  gives  heat,  pungency,  and  publicity 
to  their  words.  A  similar  experience  is  not  infrequent  in  private  life. 
Each  young  and  ardent  person  writes  a  diary,  in  which,  when  the 
hours  of  prayer  and  penitence  arrive,  he  inscribes  his  soul.  The 
pages  thus  written  are,  to  him,  burning  and  fragrant:  he  reads  them 
on  his  knees  by  midnight  and  by  the  morning  star;  he  wets  them 
with  his  tears:  they  are  sacred;  too  good  for  the  world,  and  hardly 
yet  to  be  shown  to  the  dearest  friend.  This  is  the  man-child  that  is 
born  to  the  soul,  and  her  life  still  circulates  in  the  babe.  The  um- 
bilical cord  has  not  yet  been  cut.  After  some  time  has  elapsed,  he 
begins  to  wish  to  admit  his  friend  to  this  hallowed  experience,  and 
with  hesitation,  yet  with  firmness,  exposes  the  pages  to  his  eye.  Will 
they  not  burn  his  eyes?  The  friend  coldly  turns  them  over,  and 
passes  from  the  writing  to  conversation,  with  easy  transition,  which 
strikes  the  other  party  with  astonishment  and  vexation.  He  cannot 
suspect  the  writing  itself.  Days  and  nights  of  fervid  life,  of  com- 
munion with  angels  of  darkness  and  of  light,  have  engraved  their 
shadowy  characters  on  that  tear-stained  book.  He  suspects  the 
intelligence  or  the  heart  of  his  friend.  Is  there  then  no  friend? 
He  cannot  yet  credit  that  one  may  have  impressive  experience,  and 
yet  may  not  know  how  to  put  his  private  fact  into  literature;  and 
perhaps  the  discovery  that  wisdom  has  other  tongues  and  ministers 
than  we,  that  though  we  should  hold  our  peace,  the  truth  would  not 
the  less  be  spoken,  might  check  injuriously  the  flames  of  our  zeal. 


388  AMERICAN  PROSE 


A  man  can  only  speak,  so  long  as  he  does  not  feel  his  speech  to  be 
partial  and  inadequate.  It  is  partial,  but  he  does  not  see  it  to  be  so, 
whilst  he  utters  it.  As  soon  as  he  is  released  from  the  instinctive  and 
particular,  and  sees  its  partiality,  he  shuts  his  mouth  in  disgust. 
For,  no  man  can  write  anything,  who  does  not  think  that  what  he 
writes  is  for  the  time  the  history  of  the  world;  or  do  anything  well, 
who  does  not  esteem  his  work  to  be  of  importance.  My  work  may 
be  of  none,  but  I  must  not  think  it  of  none,  or  I  shall  not  do  it  with 
impunity. 

In  like  manner,  there  is  throughout  nature  something  mocking, 
something  that  leads  us  on  and  on,  but  arrives  nowhere,  keeps  no 
faith  with  us.  All  promise  outruns  the  performance.  We  live  in  a 
system  of  approximations.  Every  end  is  prospective  of  some  other 
end,  which  is  also  temporary;  a  round  and  final  success  nowhere. 
We  are  encamped  in  nature,  not  domesticated.  Hunger  and  thirst 
lead  us  on  to  eat  and  to  drink;  but  bread  and  wine,  mix  and  cook 
them  how  you  will,  leave  us  hungry  and  thirsty,  after  the  stomach  is 
full.  It  is  the  same  with  all  our  arts  and  performances.  Our  music, 
our  poetry,  our  language  itself  are  not  satisfactions,  but  suggestions. 
The  hunger  for  wealth,  which  reduces  the  planet  to  a  garden,  fools 
the  eager  pursuer.  What  is  the  end  sought  ?  Plainly  .to  secure  the 
ends  of  good  sense  and  beauty,  from  the  intrusion  of  deformity  or 
vulgarity  of  any  kind.  But  what  an  operose  method!  What  a  train 
of  means  to  secure  a  little  conversation!  This  palace  of  brick  and 
stone,  these  servants,  this  kitchen,  these  stables,  horses  and  equip- 
age, this  bank-stock,  and  file  of  mortgages;  trade  to  all  the  world, 
country-house  and  cottage  by  the  waterside,  all  for  a  little  conver- 
sation, high,  clear,  and  spiritual!  Could  it  not  be  had  as  well  by 
beggars  on  the  highway  ?  No,  all  these  things  came  from  successive 
efforts  of  these  beggars  to  remove  friction  from  the  wheels  of  life,  and 
give  opportunity.  Conversation,  character,  were  the  avowed  ends; 
wealth  was  good  as  it  appeased  the  animal  cravings,  cured  the  smoky 
chimney,  silenced  the  creaking  door,  brought  friends  together  in  a 
warm  and  quiet  room,  and  kept  the  children  and  the  dinner-table 
in  a  different  apartment.  Thought,  virtue,  beauty,  were  the  ends; 
but  it  was  known  that  men  of  thought  and  virtue  sometimes  had  the 
headache,  or  wet  feet,  or  could  lose  good  time  whilst  the  room  was 
getting  warm  in  winter  days.  Unluckily,  in  the  exertions  necessary 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  389 

to  remove  these  inconveniences,  the  main  attention  has  been  diverted 
to  this  object ;  the  old  aims  have  been  lost  sight  of,  and  to  remove 
friction  has  come  to  be  the  end.  That  is  the  ridicule  of  rich  men, 
and  Boston,  London,  Vienna,  and  now  the  governments  generally  of 
the  world,  are  cities  and  governments  of  the  rich,  and  the  masses 
are  not  men,  but  poor  men,  that  is,  men  who  would  be  rich;  this  is 
the  ridicule  of  the  class,  that  they  arrive  with  pains  and  sweat  and 
fury  nowhere;  when  all  is  done,  it  is  for  nothing.  They  are  like  one 
who  has  interrupted  the  conversation  of  a  company  to  make  his 
speech,  and  now  has  forgotten  what  he  went  to  say.  The  appearance 
strikes  the  eye  everywhere  of  an  aimless  society,  of  aimless  nations. 
Were  the  ends  of  nature  so  great  and  cogent,  as  to  exact  this  immense 
sacrifice  of  men  ? 

Quite  analogous  to  the  deceits  in  life,  there  is,  as  might  be 
expected,  a  similar  effect  on  the  eye  from  the  face  of  external  nature. 
There  is  in  woods  and  waters  a  certain  enticement  and  flattery, 
together  with  a  failure  to  yield  a  present  satisfaction.  This  dis- 
appointment is  felt  in  every  landscape.  I  have  seen  the  softness  and 
beauty  of  the  summer-clouds  floating  feathery  overhead,  enjoying,  as 
it  seemed,  their  height  and  privilege  of  motion,  whilst  yet  they 
appeared  not  so  much  the  drapery  of  this  place  and  hour,  as  fore 
looking  to  some  pavilions  and  gardens  of  festivity  beyond.  It  is  an 
odd  jealousy:  but  the  poet  finds  himself  not  near  enough  to  his 
object.  The  pine-tree,  the  river,  the  bank  of  flowers  before  him,  does 
not  seem  to  be  nature.  Nature  is  still  elsewhere.  This  or  this  is 
but  out  skirt  and  far-off  reflection  and  echo  of  the  triumph  that  has 
passed  by,  and  is  now  at  its  glancing  splendor  and  heyday,  perchance 
in  the  neighboring  fields,  or,  if  you  stand  in  the  field,  then  in  the 
adjacent  woods.  The  present  object  shall  give  you  this  sense  of 
stillness  that  follows  a  pageant  which  has  just  gone  by.  What 
splendid  distance,  what  recesses  of  ineffable  pomp  and  loveliness  in 
the  sunset!  But  who  can  go  where  they  are,  or  lay  his  hand  or  plant 
his  foot  thereon?  Off  they  fall  from  the  round  world  forever  and 
ever.  It  is  the  same  among  the  men  and  women,  as  among  the  silent 
trees;  always  a  referred  existence,  an  absence,  never  a  presence  and 
satisfaction.  Is  it,  that  beauty  can  never  be  grasped  ?  in  persons  and 
in  landscape  is  equally  inaccessible  ?  The  accepted  and  betrothed 
lover  has  lost  the  wildest  charm  of  his  maiden  in  her  acceptance  of 


390  AMERICAN  PROSE 


him.  She  was  heaven  whilst  he  pursued  her  as  a  star:  she  cannot  be 
heaven,  if  she  stoops  to  such  a  one  as  he. 

What  shall  we  say  of  this  omnipresent  appearance  of  that  first 
projectile  impulse,  of  this  flattery  and  balking  of  so  many  well- 
meaning  creatures?  Must  we  not  suppose  somewhere  in  the  uni- 
verse a  slight  treachery  and  derision  ?  Are  we  not  engaged  to  a  serious 
resentment  of  this  use  that  is  made  of  us  ?  Are  we  tickled  trout,  and 
fools  of  nature  ?  One  look  at  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth  lays  all 
petulance  at  rest,  and  soothes  us  to  wiser  convictions.  To  the  intelli- 
gent, nature  converts  itself  into  a  vast  promise,  and  will  not  be  rashly 
explained.  Her  secret  is  untold.  Many  and  many  an  CEdipus 
arrives:  he  has  the  whole  mystery  teeming  in  his  brain.  Alas!  the 
same  sorcery  has  spoiled  his  skill;  no  syllable  can  he  shape  on  his 
lips.  Her  mighty  orbit  vaults  like  the  fresh  rainbow  into  the  deep, 
but  no  archangel's  wing  was  yet  strong  enough  to  follow  it,  and  report 
of  the  return  of  the  curve.  But  it  also  appears,  that  our  actions  are 
seconded  and  disposed  to  greater  conclusions  than  we  designed.  We 
are  escorted  on  every  hand  through  life  by  spiritual  agents,  and  a 
beneficent  purpose  lies  in  wait  for  us.  We  cannot  bandy  words  with 
nature,  or  deal  with  her  as  we  deal  with  persons.  If  we  measure  our 
individual  forces  against  hers,  we  may  easily  feel  as  if  we  were  the 
sport  of  an  insuperable  destiny.  But  if,  instead  of  identifying  our- 
selves with  the  work,  we  feel  that  the  soul  of  the  workman  streams 
through  us,  we  shall  find  the  peace  of  the  morning  dwelling  first  in 
our  hearts,  and  the  fathomless  powers  of  gravity  and  chemistry,  and, 
over  them,  of  life,  preexisting  within  us  in  their  highest  form. 

The  uneasiness  which  the  thought  of  our  helplessness  in  the  chain 
of  causes  occasions  us,  results  from  looking  too  much  at  one  condition 
of  nature,  namely,  Motion.  But  the  drag  is  never  taken  from  the 
wheel.  Wherever  the  impulse  exceeds,  the  Rest  or  Identity  insin- 
uates its  compensation.  All  over  the  wide  fields  of  earth  grows  the 
prunella  or  self-heal.  After  every  foolish  day  we  sleep  off  the  fumes 
and  furies  of  its  hours;  and  though  we  are  always  engaged  with  par- 
ticulars, and  often  enslaved  to  them,  we  bring  with  us  to  every  experi- 
ment the  innate  universal  laws.  These,  while  they  exist  in  the  mind  as 
ideas,  stand  around  us  in  nature  forever  embodied,  a  present  sanity 
to  expose  and  cure  the  insanity  of  men.  Our  servitude  to  particulars 
betrays  us  into  a  hundred  foolish  expectations.  We  anticipate  a  new 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  391 

era  from  the  invention  of  a  locomotive,  or  a  balloon;  the  new  engine 
brings  with  it  the  old  checks.  They  say  that  by  electro-magnetism, 
your  salad  shall  be  grown  from  the  seed,  whilst  your  fowl  is  roasting 
for  dinner:  it  is  a  symbol  of  our  modern  aims  and  endeavors, — of  our 
condensation  and  acceleration  of  objects:  but  nothing  is  gained: 
nature  cannot  be  cheated:  man's  life  is  but  seventy  salads  long, 
grow  they  swift  or  grow  they  slow.  In  these  checks  and  impossi- 
bilities, however,  we  find  our  advantage,  not  less  than  in  the  impulses. 
Let  the  victory  fall  where  it  will,  we  are  on  that  side.  And  the 
knowledge  that  we  traverse  the  whole  scale  of  being,  from  the  centre 
to  the  poles  of  nature,  and  have  some  stake  in  every  possibility,  lends 
that  sublime  lustre  to  death,  which  philosophy  and  religion  have  too 
outwardly  and  literally  striven  to  express  in  the  popular  doctrine  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.  The  reality  is  more  excellent  than  the 
report.  Here  is  no  ruin,  no  discontinuity,  no  spent  ball.  The  divine 
circulations  never  rest  nor  linger.  Nature  is  the  incarnation  of  a 
thought,  and  turns  to  a  thought  again,  as  ice  becomes  water  and  gas. 
The  world  is  mind  precipitated,  and  the  volatile  essence  is  forever 
escaping  again  into  the  state  of  free  thought.  Hence  the  virtue  and 
pungency  of  the  influence  on  the  mind,  of  natural  objects,  whether 
inorganic  or  organized.  Man  imprisoned,  man  crystallized,  man 
vegetative,  speaks  to  man  impersonated.  That  power  which  does  not 
respect  quantity,  which  makes  the  whole  and  the  particle  its  equal 
channel,  delegates  its  smile  to  the  morning,  and  distils  its  essence  into 
every  drop  of  rain.  Every  moment  instructs,  and  every  object: 
for  wisdom  is  infused  into  every  form.  It  has  been  poured  into  us  as 
blood;  it  convulsed  us  as  pain;  it  slid  into  us  as  pleasure;  it  envel- 
oped us  in  dull,  melancholy  days,  or  in  days  of  cheerful  labor;  we 
did  not  guess  its  essence,  until  after  a  long  time. 

BEHAVIOR 

The  soul  which  animates  Nature  is  not  less  significantly  published 
in  the  figure,  movement,  and  gesture  of  animated  bodies,  than  in  its 
last  vehicle  of  articulate  speech.  This  silent  and  subtile  language  is 
Manners;  not  what,  but  how.  Life  expresses.  A  statue  has  no 
tongue,  and  needs  none.  Good  tableaux  do  not  need  declamation. 
Nature  tells  every  secret  once.  Yes,  but  in  man  she  tells  it  all  the 
time,  by  form,  attitude,  gesture,  mien,  face,  and  parts  of  the  face,  and 


392  AMERICAN  PROSE 


by  the  whole  action  of  the  machine.  The  visible  carriage  or  action 
of  the  individual,  as  resulting  from  his  organization  and  his  will  com- 
bined, we  call  manners.  What  are  they  but  thought  entering  the 
hands  and  feet,  controlling  the  movements  of  the  body,  the  speech 
and  behavior  ? 

There  is  always  a  best  way  of  doing  everything,  if  it  be  to  boil 
an  egg.  Manners  are  the  happy  ways  of  doing  things;  each  once 
a  stroke  of  genius  or  of  love, — now  repeated  and  hardened  into  usage. 
They  form  at  last  a  rich  varnish,  with  which  the  routine  of  life  is 
washed,  and  its  details  adorned.  If  they  are  superficial,  so  are  the 
dew-drops  which  give  such  a  depth  to  the  morning  meadows.  Man- 
ners are  very  communicable:  men  catch  them  from  each  other. 
Consuelo,  in  the  romance,  boasts  of  the  lessons  she  had  given  the 
nobles  in  manners,  on  the  stage;  and,  in  real  life,  Talma  taught 
Napoleon  the  arts  of  behavior.  Genius  invents  fine  manners,  which 
the  baron  and  the  baroness  copy  very  fast,  and,  by  the  advantage 
of  a  palace,  better  the  instruction.  They  stereotype  the  lesson  they 
have  learned  into  a  mode. 

The  power  of  manners  is  incessant, — an  element  as  unconcealable 
as  fire.  The  nobility  cannot  in  any  country  be  disguised,  and  no  more 
in  a  republic  or  a  democracy,  than  in  a  kingdom.  No  man  can  resist 
their  influence.  There  are  certain  manners  which  are  learned  in 
good  society,  of  that  force,  that,  if  a  person  have  them,  he  or  she  must 
be  considered,  and  is  everywhere  welcome,  though  without  beauty, 
or  wealth,  or  genius.  Give  a  boy  address  and  accomplishments,  and 
you  give  him  the  mastery  of  palaces  and  fortunes  where  he  goes.  He 
has  not  the  trouble  of  earning  or  owning  them;  they  solicit  him  to 
enter  and  possess.  We  send  girls  of  a  timid,  retreating  disposition 
to  the  boarding-school,  to  the  riding-school,  to  the  ballroom,  or 
wheresoever  they  can  come  into  acquaintance  and  nearness  of  lead- 
ing persons  of  their  own  sex;  where  they  might  learn  address,  and 
see  it  near  at  hand.  The  power  of  a  woman  of  fashion  to  lead,  and 
also  to  daunt  and  repel,  derives  from  their  belief  that  she  knows 
resources  and  behaviors  not  known  to  them;  but  when  these  have 
mastered  her  secret,  they  learn  to  confront  her,  and  recover  their 
self-possession. 

Every  day  bears  witness  to  their  gentle  rule.  People  who  would 
obtrude,  now  do  not  obtrude.  The  mediocre  circle  learns  to  demand 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  393 

that  which  belongs  to  a  high  state  of  nature  or  of  culture.  Your 
manners  are  always  under  examination,  and  by  committees  little 
suspected, — a  police  in  citizens'  clothes, — but  are  awarding  or  deny- 
ing you  very  high  prizes  when  you  least  think  of  it. 

We  talk  much  of  utilities, —  but  't  is  our  manners  that  associate 
us.  In  hours  of  business,  we  go  to  him  who  knows,  or  has,  or  does 
this  or  that  which  we  want,  and  we  do  not  let  our  taste  or  feeling 
stand  in  the  way.  But  this  activity  over,  we  return  to  the  indolent 
state,  and  wish  for  those  we  can  be  at  ease  with;  those  who  will  go 
where  we  go,  whose  manners  do  not  offend  us,  whose  social  tone 
chimes  with  ours.  When  we  reflect  on  their  persuasive  and  cheering 
force;  how  they  recommend,  prepare,  and  draw  people  together; 
how,  in  all  clubs,  manners  make  the  members;  how  manners  make 
the  fortune  of  the  ambitious  youth;  that,  for  the  most  part,  his 
manners  marry  him,  and,  for  the  most  part,  he  marries  manners; 
when  we  think  what  keys  they  are,  and  to  what  secrets;  what  high 
lessons  and  inspiring  tokens  of  character  they  convey;  and  what 
divination  is  required  in  us,  for  the  reading  of  this  fine  telegraph, 
we  see  what  range  the  subject  has,  and  what  relations  to  convenience, 
k  power,  and  beauty. 

Their  first  service  is  very  low, — when  they  are  the  minor  morals: 
but  't  is  the  beginning  of  civility, — to  make  us,  I  mean,  endurable 
to  each  other.  We  prize  them  for  their  rough-plastic,  abstergent 
force;  to  get  people  out  of  the  quadruped  state;  to  get  them  washed, 
clothed,  and  set  up  on  end;  to  slough  their  animal  husks  and  habits; 
compel  them  to  be  clean;  overawe  their  spite  and  meanness,  teach 
them  to  stifle  the  base,  and  choose  the  generous  expression,  and  make 
them  know  how  much  happier  the  generous  behaviors  are. 

Bad  behavior  the  laws  cannot  reach.  Society  is  infested  with 
rude,  cynical,  restless,  and  frivolous  persons  who  prey  upon  the  rest, 
and  whom  a  public  opinion  concentrated  into  good  manners,  forms 
accepted  by  the  sense  of  all,  can  reach: — the  contradictors  and  railers 
at  public  and  private  tables,  who  are  like  terriers,  who  conceive  it  the 
duty  of  a  dog  of  honor  to  growl  at  any  passer-by,  and  do  the  honors 
of  the  house  by  barking  him  out  of  sight: — I  have  seen  men  who 
neigh  like  a  horse  when  you  contradict  them,  or  say  something  which 
they  do  not  understand: — then  the  overbold,  who  make  their  own 
invitation  to  your  hearth;  the  persevering  talker,  who  gives  you  his 


394  AMERICAN  PROSE 


society  in  large,  saturating  doses;  the  pitiers  of  themselves, — a  peril- 
ous class;  the  frivolous  Asmodeus,  who  relies  on  you  to  find  him  in 
ropes  of  sand  to  twist;  the  monotones;  in  short,  every  stripe  of 
absurdity; — these  are  social  inflictions  which  the  magistrate  cannot 
cure  or  defend  you  from,  and  which  must  be  intrusted  to  the  restrain- 
ing force  of  custom,  and  proverbs,  and  familiar  rules  of  behavior 
impressed  on  young  people  hi  their  school-days. 

In  the  hotels  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  they  print,  or  used 
to  print,  among  the  rules  of  the  house,  that  "no  gentleman  can  be 
permitted  to  come  to  the  public  table  without  his  coat;"  and  in  the 
same  country,  hi  the  pews  of  the  churches,  little  placards  plead  with 
the  worshipper  against  the  fury  of  expectoration.  Charles  Dickens 
self-sacrificingly  undertook  the  reformation  of  our  American  manners 
in  unspeakable  particulars.  I  think  the  lesson  was  not  quite  lost; 
that  it  held  bad  manners  up,  so  that  the  churls  could  see  the  deformity. 
Unhappily,  the  book  had  its  own  deformities.  It  ought  not  to  need 
to  print  hi  a  reading-room  a  caution  to  strangers  not  to  speak  loud; 
nor  to  persons  who  look  over  fine  engravings,  that  they  should  be 
handled  like  cobwebs  and  butterflies'  wings;  nor  to  persons  who  look 
at  marble  statues,  that  they  shall  not  smite  them  with  canes.  But, 
even  in  the  perfect  civilization  of  this  city,  such  cautions  are  not  quite 
needless  hi  the  Athenaeum  and  City  Library. 

Manners  are  factitious,  and  grow  out  of  circumstance  as  well  as 
out  of  character.  If  you  look  at  the  pictures  of  patricians  and  of 
peasants,  of  different  periods  and  countries,  you  will  see  how  well 
they  match  the  same  classes  hi  our  towns.  The  modern  aristocrat 
not  only  is  well  drawn  hi  Titian's  Venetian  doges,  and  in  Roman 
coins  and  statues,  but  also  hi  the  pictures  which  Commodore  Perry 
brought  home  of  dignitaries  hi  Japan.  Broad  lands  and  great  inter- 
ests not  only  arrive  to  such  heads  as  can  manage  them,  but  form 
manners  of  power.  A  keen  eye,  too,  will  see  nice  gradations  of  rank, 
or  see  in  the  manners  the  degree  of  homage  the  party  is  wont  to 
receive.  A  prince  who  is  accustomed  every  day  to  be  courted  and 
deferred  to  by  the  highest  grandees,  acquires  a  corresponding  expec- 
tation, and  a  becoming  mode  of  receiving  and  replying  to  this  homage. 

There  are  always  exceptional  people  and  modes.  English  grandees 
affect  to  be  farmers.  Claverhouse  is  a  fop,  and,  under  the  finish  of 
dress,  and  levity  of  behavior,  hides  the  terror  of  his  war.  But  Nature 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  395 

and  Destiny  are  honest,  and  never  fail  to  leave  their  mark,  to  hang 
out  a  sign  for  each  and  for  every  quality.  It  is  much  to  conquer  one's 
face,  and  perhaps  the  ambitious  youth  thinks  he  has  got  the  whole 
secret  when  he  has  learned,  that  disengaged  manners  are  commanding. 
Don't  be  deceived  by  a  facile  exterior.  Tender  men  sometimes  have 
strong  wills.  We  had,  in  Massachusetts,  an  old  statesman,  who  had 
sat  all  his  life  in  courts  and  in  chairs  of  state,  without  overcoming  an 
extreme  irritability  of  face,  voice,  and  bearing:  when  he  spoke,  his 
voice  would  not  serve  him;  it  cracked,  it  broke,  it  wheezed,  it  piped; 
— little  cared  he;  he  knew  that  it  had  got  to  pipe,  or  wheeze,  or 
screech  his  argument  and  his  indignation.  When  he  sat  down,  after 
speaking,  he  seemed  in  a  sort  of  fit,  and  held  on  to  his  chair  with  both 
hands:  but  underneath  all  this  irritability,  was  a  puissant  will,  firm, 
and  advancing,  and  a  memory  in  which  lay  in  order  and  method  like 
geologic  strata  every  fact  of  his  history,  and  under  the  control  of 
his  will. 

Manners  are  partly  factitious,  but,  mainly,  there  must  be 
capacity  for  culture  in  the  blood.  Else  all  culture  is  vain.  The 
obstinate  prejudice  in  favor  of  blood,  which  lies  at  the  base  of  the 
feudal  and  monarchical  fabrics  of  the  Old  World,  has  some  reason  in 
common  experience.  Every  man, — mathematician,  artist,  soldier, 
or  merchant, — looks  with  confidence  for  some  traits  and  talents  in  his 
own  child,  which  he  would  not  dare  to  presume  in  the  child  of  a 
stranger.  The  Orientalists  are  very  orthodox  on  this  point.  "Take 
a  thorn-bush,"  said  the  emir  Abdel-Kader,  "and  sprinkle  it  for  a 
whole  year  with  water; — it  will  yield  nothing  but  thorns.  Take 
a  date-tree,  leave  it  without  culture,  and  it  will  always  produce  dates. 
Nobility  is  the  date-tree,  and  the  Arab  populace  is  a  bush  of  thorns." 

A  mam  fact  in  the  history  of  manners  is  the  wonderful  expressive- 
ness of  the  human  body.  If  it  were  made  of  glass,  or  of  air,  and  the 
thoughts  were  written  on  steel  tablets  within,  it  could  not  publish 
more  truly  its  meaning  than  now.  Wise  men  read  very  sharply  all 
your  private  history  in  your  look  and  gait  and  behavior.  The  whole 
economy  of  nature  is  bent  on  expression.  The  tell-tale  body  is  all 
tongues.  Men  are  like  Geneva  watches  with  crystal  faces  which 
expose  the  whole  movement.  They  carry  the  liquor  of  life  flowing 
up  and  down  in  these  beautiful  bottles,  and  announcing  to  the  curious 
how  it  is  with  them.  The  face  and  eyes  reveal  what  the  spirit  is 


396  AMERICAN  PROSE 


doing,  how  old  it  is,  what  aims  it  has.  The  eyes  indicate  the  antiquity 
of  the  soul,  or,  through  how  many  forms  it  has  already  ascended.  It 
almost  violates  the  proprieties,  if  we  say  above  the  breath  here,  what 
the  confessing  eyes  do  not  hesitate  to  utter  to  every  street  passenger. 
•  Man  cannot  fix  his  eye  on  the  sun,  and  so  far  seems  imperfect. 
In  Siberia,  a  late  traveller  found  men  who  could  see  the  satellites  of 
Jupiter  with  their  unarmed  eye.  In  some  respects  the  animals  excel 
us.  The  birds  have  a  longer  sight,  beside  the  advantage  by  their 
wings  of  a  higher  observatory.  A  cow  can  bid  her  calf,  by  secret 
signal,  probably  of  the  eye,  to  run  away,  or  to  lie  down  and  hide  itself. 
The  jockeys  say  of  certain  horses,  that  "they  look  over  the  whole 
ground."  The  out-door  life,  and  hunting,  and  labor,  give  equal 
vigor  to  the  human  eye.  A  farmer  looks  out  at  you  as  strong  as  the 
horse ;  his  eye-beam  is  like  the  stroke  of  a  staff.  An  eye  can  threaten 
like  a  loaded  and  levelled  gun,  or  can  insult  like  hissing  or  kicking; 
or,  in  its  altered  mood,  by  beams  of  kindness,  it  can  make  the  heart 
dance  with  joy. 

The  eye  obeys  exactly  the  action  of  the  mind.  When  a  thought 
strikes  us,  the  eyes  fix,  and  remain  gazing  at  a  distance;  in  enumer- 
ating the  names  of  persons  or  of  countries,  as  France,  Germany, 
Spain,  Turkey,  the  eyes  wink  at  each  new  name.  There  is  no  nicety 
of  learning  sought  by  the  mind,  which  the  eyes  do  not  vie  in  acquir- 
ing. "An  artist,"  said  Michel  Angelo,  "must  have  his  measuring 
tools  not  in  the  hand,  but  in  the  eye;"  and  there  is  no  end  to  the 
catalogue  of  its  performances,  whether  in  indolent  vision,  (that  of 
health  and  beauty,)  or  in  strained  vision,  (that  of  art  and  labor.) 

Eyes  are  bold  as  lions, — roving,  running,  leaping,  here  and  there, 
far  and  near.  They  speak  all  languages.  They  wait  for  no  intro- 
duction; they  are  no  Englishmen;  ask  no  leave  of  age,  or  rank;  they 
respect  neither  poverty  nor  riches,  neither  learning  nor  power,  nor 
virtue,  nor  sex,  but  intrude,  and  come  again,  and  go  through  and 
through  you,  in  a  moment  of  time.  What  inundation  of  life  and 
thought  is  discharged  from  one  soul  into  another,  through  them! 
The  glance  is  natural  magic.  The  mysterious  communication  estab- 
lished across  a  house  between  two  entire  strangers,  moves  all  the 
springs  of  wonder.  The  communication  by  the  glance  is  in  the 
greatest  part  not  subject  to  the  control  of  the  will.  It  is  the  bodily 
symbol  of  identity  of  nature.  We  look  into  the  eyes  to  know  if  this 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  397 

other  form  is  another  self,  and  the  eyes  will  not  lie,  but  make  a  faith- 
ful confession  what  inhabitant  is  there.  The  revelations  are  some- 
times terrific.  The  confession  of  a  low,  usurping  devil  is  there  made, 
and  the  observer  shall  seem  to  feel  the  stirring  of  owls,  and  bats,  and 
horned  hoofs,  where  he  looked  for  innocence  and  simplicity.  'T  is 
remarkable,  too,  that  the  spirit  that  appears  at  the  windows  of  the 
house  does  at  once  invest  himself  in  a  new  form  of  his  own,  to  the 
mind  of  the  beholder. 

The  eyes  of  men  converse  as  much  as  their  tongues,  with  the 
advantage,  that  the  ocular  dialect  needs  no  dictionary,  but  is  under- 
stood all  the  world  over.  When  the  eyes  say  one  thing,  and  the 
tongue  another,  a  practised  man  relies  on  the  language  of  the  first. 
If  the  man  is  off  his  centre,  the  eyes  show  it.  You  can  read  in  the 
eyes  of  your  companion,  whether  your  argument  hits  him,  though 
his  tongue  will  not  confess  it.  There  is  a  look  by  which  a  man  shows 
he  is  going  to  say  a  good  thing,  and  a  look  when  he  has  said  it.  Vain 
and  forgotten  are  all  the  fine  offers  and  offices  of  hospitality,  if  there 
is  no  holiday  in  the  eye.  How  many  furtive  inclinations  avowed 
by  the  eye,  though  dissembled  by  the  lips!  One  comes  away  from 
a  company,  in  which,  it  may  easily  happen,  he  has  said  nothing,  and 
no  important  remark  has  been  addressed  to  him,  and  yet,  if  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  society,  he  shall  not  have  a  sense  of  this  fact,  such 
a  stream  of  life  has  been  flowing  into  him,  and  out  from  him,  through 
the  eyes.  There  are  eyes,  to  be  sure,  that  give  no  more  admission 
into  the  man  than  blueberries.  Others  are  liquid  and  deep, — wells 
that  a  man  might  fall  into ; — others  are  aggressive  and  devouring,  seem 
to  call  out  the  police,  take  all  too  much  notice,  and  require  crowded 
Broadways,  and  the  security  of  millions,  to  protect  individuals  against 
them.  The  military  eye  I  meet,  now  darkly  sparkling  under  clerical, 
now  under  rustic  brows.  'T  is  the  city  of  Lacedasmon ;  't  is  a  stack  of 
bayonets.  There  are  asking  eyes,  asserting  eyes,  prowling  eyes; 
and  eyes  full  of  fate, — some  of  good,  and  some  of  sinister  omen.  The 
alleged  power  to  charm  down  insanity,  or  ferocity  in  beasts,  is  a  power 
behind  the  eye.  It  must  be  a  victory  achieved  in  the  will,  before  it 
can  be  signified  in  the  eye.  It  is  very  certain  that  each  man  carries 
in  his  eye  the  exact  indication  of  his  rank  in  the  immense  scale  of 
men,  and  we  are  always  learning  to  read  it.  A  complete  man  should 
need  no  auxiliaries  to  his  personal  presence.  Whoever  looked  on 


398  AMERICAN  PROSE 


him  would  consent  to  his  will,  being  certified  that  his  aims  were 
generous  and  universal.  The  reason  why  men  do  not  obey  us,  is 
because  they  see  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  our  eye. 

If  the  organ  of  sight  is  such  a  vehicle  of  power,  the  other  features 
have  their  own.  A  man  finds  room  in  the  few  square  inches  of  the 
face  for  the  traits  of  all  his  ancestors;  for  the  expression  of  all  his 
history,  and  his  wants.  The  sculptor,  and  Winckelmann,  and 
Lavater,  will  tell  you  how  significant  a  feature  is  the  nose;  how  its 
forms  express  strength  or  weakness  of  will,  and  good  or  bad  temper. 
The  nose  of  Julius  Caesar,  of  Dante,  and  of  Pitt,  suggest  "the  terrors 
of  the  beak."  What  refinement,  and  what  limitations,  the  teeth 
betray!  "Beware  you  don't  laugh,"  said  the  wise  mother,  "for  then 
you  show  all  your  faults." 

Balzac  left  in  manuscript  a  chapter,  which  he  called  "Theorie 
de  la  demarche"  in  which  he  says:  "The  look,  the  voice,  the  respira- 
tion, and  the  attitude  or  walk,  are  identical.  But,  as  it  has  not  been 
given  to  man,  the  power  to  stand  guard,  at  once,  over  these  four 
different  simultaneous  expressions  of  his  thought,  watch  that  one 
which  speaks  out  the  truth,  and  you  will  know  the  whole  man." 

Palaces  interest  us  mainly  in  the  exhibition  of  manners,  which, 
in  the  idle  and  expensive  society  dwelling  in  them,  are  raised  to  a  high 
art.  The  maxim  of  courts  is,  that  manner  is  power.  A  calm  and  reso- 
lute bearing,  a  polished  speech,  an  embellishment  of  trifles,  and  the 
art  of  hiding  all  uncomfortable  feeling,  are  essential  to  the  courtier: 
and  Saint  Simon,  and  Cardinal  de  Retz,  and  Rcederer,  and  an  ency- 
clopaedia of  Memoires  will  instruct  you,  if  you  wish,  in  those  potent 
secrets.  Thus,  it  is  a  point  of  pride  with  kings,  to  remember  faces  and 
names.  It  is  reported  of  one  prince,  that  his  head  had  the  air  of 
leaning  downwards,  in  order  not  to  humble  the  crowd.  There  are 
people  who  come  in  ever  like  a  child  with  a  piece  of  good  news.  It 
was  said  of  the  later  Lord  Holland,  that  he  always  came  down  to 
breakfast  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  just  met  with  some  signal 
good-fortune.  In  "Notre  Dame"  the  grandee  took  his  place  on  the 
dais,  with  the  look  of  one  who  is  thinking  of  something  else.  But 
we  must  not  peep  and  eavesdrop  at  palace-doors. 

Fine  manners  need  the  support  of  fine  manners  in  others.  A 
scholar  may  be  a  well-bred  man,  or  he  may  not.  The  enthusiast  is 
introduced  to  polished  scholars  in  society,  and  is  chilled  and  silenced 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  399 

by  finding  himself  not  in  their  element.  They  all  have  somewhat 
which  he  has  not,  and,  it  seems,  ought  to  have.  But  if  he  finds  the 
scholar  apart  from  his  companions,  it  is  then  the  enthusiast's  turn, 
and  the  scholar  has  no  defence,  but  must  deal  on  his  terms.  Now 
they  must  fight  the  battle  out  on  their  private  strengths.  What  is 
the  talent  of  that  character  so  common, — the  successful  man  of  the 
world, — in  all  marts,  senates,  and  drawing-rooms  ?  Manners: 
manners  of  power;  sense  to  see  his  advantage,  and  manners  up  to  it. 
See  him  approach  his  man.  He  knows  that  troops  behave  as  they 
are  handled  at  first; — that  is  his  cheap  secret;  just  what  happens 
to  every  two  persons  who  meet  on  any  affair, — one  instantly  per- 
ceives that  he  has  the  key  of  the  situation,  that  his  will  compre- 
hends the  other's  will,  as  the  cat  does  the  mouse;  and  he  has  only  to 
use  courtesy,  and  furnish  good-natured  reasons  to  his  victim  to  cover 
up  the  chain,  lest  he  be  shamed  into  resistance. 

The  theatre  in  which  this  science  of  manners  has  a  formal  impor- 
tance is  not  with  us  a  court,  but  dress-circles,  wherein,  after  the  close 
of  the  day's  business,  men  and  women  meet  at  leisure,  for  mutual 
entertainment,  in  ornamented  drawing-rooms.  Of  course,  it  has 
every  variety  of  attraction  and  merit;  but,  to  earnest  persons,  to 
youths  or  maidens  who  have  great  objects  at  heart,  we  cannot  extol 
it  highly.  A  well-dressed,  talkative  company,  where  each  is  bent  to 
amuse  the  other, — yet  the  high-born  Turk  who  came  hither  fancied 
that  every  woman  seemed  to  be  suffering  for  a  chair;  that  all  the 
talkers  were  brained  and  exhausted  by  the  deoxygenated  air:  it 
spoiled  the  best  persons:  it  put  all  on  stilts.  Yet  here  are  the  secret 
biographies  written  and  read.  The  aspect  of  that  man  is  repulsive; 
I  do  not  wish  to  deal  with  him.  The  other  is  irritable,  shy,  and  on 
his  guard.  The  youth  looks  humble  and  manly:  I  choose  him. 
Look  on  this  woman.  There  is  not  beauty,  nor  brilliant  sayings,  nor 
distinguished  power  to  serve  you;  but  all  see  her  gladly;  her  whole 
air  and  impression  are  healthful.  Here  come  the  sentimentalists, 
and  the  invalids.  Here  is  Elise,  who  caught  cold  in  coming  into  the 
world,  and  has  always  increased  it  since.  Here  are  creep-mouse 
manners;  and  thievish  manners.  "Look  at  Northcote,"  said  Fuseli; 
"he  looks  like  a  rat  that  has  seen  a  cat."  In  the  shallow  company, 
easily  excited,  easily  tired,  here  is  the  columnar  Bernard:  the  Alle-  . 
ghanies  do  not  express  more  repose  than  his  behavior.  Here  are  the 


400  AMERICAN  PROSE 


sweet  following  eyes  of  Cecile:  it  seemed  always  that  she  demanded 
the  heart.  Nothing  can  be  more  excellent  in  kind  than  the  Corinthian 
grace  of  Gertrude's  manners,  and  yet  Blanche,  who  has  no  manners, 
has  better  manners  than -she;  for  the  movements  of  Blanche  are  the 
sallies  of  a  spirit  which  is  sufficient  for  the  moment,  and  she  can  afford 
to  express  every  thought  by  instant  action. 

Manners  have  been  somewhat  cynically  denned  to  be  a  con- 
trivance of  wise  men  to  keep  fools  at  a  distance.  Fashion  is  shrewd 
to  detect  those  who  do  not  belong  to  her  train,  and  seldom  wastes 
her  attentions.  Society  is  very  swift  in  its  instincts,  and,  if  you  do 
not  belong  to  it,  resists  and  sneers  at  you;  or  quietly  drops  you. 
The  first  weapon  enrages  the  party  attacked;  the  second  is  still  more 
effective,  but  is  not  to  be  resisted,  as  the  date  of  the  transaction  is  not 
easily  found.  People  grow  up  and  grow  old  under  this  infliction,  and 
never  suspect  the  truth,  ascribing  the  solitude  which  acts  on  them 
very  injuriously,  to  any  cause  but  the  right  one. 

The  basis  of  good  manners  is  self-reliance.  Necessity  is  the  law 
of  all  who  are  not  self-possessed.  Those  who  are  not  self-possessed, 
obtrude,  and  pain  us.  Some  men  appear  to  feel  that  they  belong  to 
a  Pariah  caste.  They  fear  to  offend,  they  bend  and  apologize,  and 
walk  through  life  with  a  timid  step.  As  we  sometimes  dream  that 
we  are  in  a  well-dressed  company  without  any  coat,  so  Godfrey  acts 
ever  as  if  he  suffered  from  some  mortifying  circumstance.  The  hero 
should  find  himself  at  home,  wherever  he  is;  should  impart  comfort 
by  his  own  security  and  good-nature  to  all  beholders.  The  hero  is 
suffered  to  be  himself.  A  person  of  strong  mind  comes  to  perceive 
that  for  him  an  immunity  is  secured  so  long  as  he  renders  to  society 
that  service  which  is  native  and  proper  to  him, — an  immunity  from 
all  the  observances,  yea,  and  duties,  which  society  so  tyrannically 
imposes  on  the  rank  and  file  of  its  members.  "Euripides,"  says 
Aspasia,  "has  not  the  fine  manners  of  Sophocles;  but," — she  adds 
good-humoredly,  "the  movers  and  masters  of  our  souls  have  surely 
a  right  to  throw  out  their  limbs  as  carelessly  as  they  please,  on  the 
world  that  belongs  to  them,  and  before  the  creatures  they  have 
animated." 

Manners  require  time,  as  nothing  is  more  vulgar  than  haste. 
Friendship  should  be  surrounded  with  ceremonies  and  respects,  and 
not  crushed  into  corners.  Friendship  requires  more  time  than  poor 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  401 

busy  men  can  usually  command.  Here  comes  to  me  Roland,  with 
a  delicacy  of  sentiment  leading  and  enwrapping  him  like  a  divine 
cloud  or  holy  ghost.  'T  is  a  great  destitution  to  both  that  this  should 
not  be  entertained  with  large  leisures,  but  contrariwise  should  be 
balked  by  importunate  affairs. 

But  through  this  lustrous  varnish,  the  reality  is  ever  shining. 
Tis  hard  to  keep  the  what  from  breaking  through  this  pretty  painting 
of  the  how.  The  core  will  come  to  the  surface.  Strong  will  and  keen 
perception  overpower  old  manners,  and  create  new;  and  the  thought 
of  the  present  moment  has  a  greater  value  than  all  the  past.  In 
persons  of  character,  we  do  not  remark  manners,  because  of  their 
instantaneousness.  We  are  surprised  by  the  thing  done,  out  of  all 
power  to  watch  the  way  of  it.  Yet  nothing  is  more  charming  than 
to  recognize  the  great  style  which  runs  through  the  actions  of  such. 
People  masquerade  before  us  in  their  fortunes,  titles,  offices,  and 
connections,  as  academic  or  civil  presidents,  or  senators,  or  professors, 
or  great  lawyers,  and  impose  on  the  frivolous,  and  a  good  deal  on  each 
other,  by  these  fames.  At  least,  it  is  a  point  of  prudent  good  man- 
ners to  treat  these  reputations  tenderly,  as  if  they  were  merited.  But 
the  sad  realist  knows  these  fellows  at  a  glance,  and  they  know  him; 
as  when  in  Paris  the  chief  of  the  police  enters  a  ballroom,  so  many 
diamonded  pretenders  shrink  and  make  themselves  as  inconspicuous 
as  they  can,  or  give  him  a  supplicating  look  as  they  pass.  "I  had 
received,"  said  a  sibyl,  "I  had  received  at  birth  the  fatal  gift  of 
penetration": — and  these  Cassandras  are  always  born. 

Manners  impress  as  they  indicate  real  power.  A  man  who  is 
sure  of  his  point,  carries  a  broad  and  contented  expression,  which 
everybody  reads.  And  you  cannot  rightly  train  one  to  an  air  and 
manner,  except  by  making  him  the  kind  of  man  of  whom  that  manner 
is  the  natural  expression.  Nature  forever  puts  a  premium  on  reality. 
What  is  done  for  effect,  is  seen  to  be  done  for  effect;  what  is  done  for 
love,  is  felt  to  be  done  for  love.  A  man  inspires  affection  and  honor, 
because  he  was  not  lying  in  wait  for  these.  The  things  of  a  man  for 
which  we  visit  him,  were  done  in  the  dark  and  cold.  A  little  integrity 
is  better  than  any  career.  So  deep  are  the  sources  of  this  surface- 
action,  that  even  the  size  of  your  companion  seems  to  vary  with  his 
freedom  of  thought.  Not  only  is  he  larger,  when  at  ease,  and  his 
thoughts  generous,  but  everything  around  him  becomes  variable  with 


402  AMERICAN  PROSE 


expression.  No  carpenter's  rule,  no  rod  and  chain,  will  measure  the 
dimensions  of  any  house  or  house-lot:  go  into  the  house:  if  the  pro- 
prietor is  constrained  and  deferring,  't  is  of  no  importance  how  large 
his  house,  how  beautiful  his  grounds, — you  quickly  come  to  the  end 
of  all:  but  if  the  man  is  self-possessed,  happy  and  at  home,  his  house 
is  deep-founded,  indefinitely  large  and  interesting,  the  roof  and  dome 
buoyant  as  the  sky.  Under  the  humblest  roof,  the  commonest  per- 
son in  plain  clothes  sits  there  massive,  cheerful,  yet  formidable  like 
the  Egyptian  colossi. 

Neither  Aristotle,  nor  Leibnitz,  nor  Junius,  nor  Champollion 
has  set  down  the  grammar-rules  of  this  dialect,  older  than  Sanscrit; 
but  they  who  cannot  yet  read  English,  can  read  this.  Men  take  each 
other's  measure,  when  they  meet  for  the  first  tune, — and  every  time 
they  meet.  How  do  they  get  this  rapid  knowledge,  even  before  they 
speak,  of  each  other's  power  and  dispositions  ?  One  would  say,  that 
the  persuasion  of  their  speech  is  not  in  what  they  say, — or,  that  men 
do  not  convince  by  their  argument, — but  by  their  personality,  by  who 
they  are,  and  what  they  said  and  did  heretofore.  A  man  already 
strong  is  listened  to,  and  everything  he  says  is  applauded.  Another 
opposes  him  with  sound  argument,  but  the  argument  is  scouted,  until 
by  and  by  it  gets  into  the  mind  of  some  weighty  person;  then  it 
begins  to  tell  on  the  community. 

Self-reliance  is  the  basis  of  behavior,  as  it  is  the  guaranty  that 
the  powers  are  not  squandered  in  too  much  demonstration.  In  this 
country,  where. school  education  is  universal,  we  have  a  superficial 
culture,  and  a  profusion  of  reading  and  writing  and  expression.  We 
parade  our  nobilities  hi  poems  and  orations,  instead  of  working  them 
up  into  happiness.  There  is  a  whisper  out  of  the  ages  to  him  who  can 
understand  it, — "whatever  is  known  to  thyself  alone,  has  always 
very  great  value."  There  is  some  reason  to  believe,  that,  when  a  man 
does  not  write  his  poetry,  it  escapes  by  other  vents  through  him, 
instead  of  the  one  vent  of  writing;  clings  to  his  form  and  manners, 
whilst  poets  have  often  nothing  poetical  about  them  except  their 
verses.  Jacobi  said,  that  "when  a  man  has  fully  expressed  his 
thought,  he  has  somewhat  less  possession  of  it."  One  would  say,  the 
rule  is, — What  a  man  is  irresistibly  urged  to  say,  helps  him  and  us. 
In  explaining  his  thought  to  others,  he  explains  it  to  himself:  but 
when  he  opens  it  for  show,  it  corrupts  him. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  403 

Society  is  the  stage  on  which  manners  are  shown ;  novels  are  their 
literature.  Novels  are  the  journal  or  record  of  manners,  and  the 
new  importance  of  these  books  derives  from  the  fact,  that  the  novelist 
begins  to  penetrate  the  surface,  and  treat  this  part  of  life  more 
worthily.  The  novels  used  to  be  all  alike,  and  had  a  quite  vulgar 
tone.  The  novels  used  to  lead  us  on  to  a  foolish  interest  in  the 
fortunes  of  the  boy  and  girl  they  described.  The  boy  was  to  be 
raised  from  a  humble  to  a  high  position.  He  was  hi  want  of  a 
wife  and  a  castle,  and  the  object  of  the  story  was  to  supply  him 
with  one  or  both.  We  watched  sympathetically,  step  by  step,  his 
climbing,  until,  at  last,  the  point  is  gained,  the  wedding  day  is 
fixed,  and  we  follow  the  gala  procession  home  to  the  castle,  when 
the  doors  are  slammed  hi  our  face,  and  the  poor  reader  is  left  out- 
side in  the  cold,  not  enriched  by  so  much  as  an  idea,  or  a  virtuous 
impulse. 

But  the  victories  of  character  are  instant,  and  victories  for  all. 
Its  greatness  enlarges  all.  We  are  fortified  by  every  heroic  anecdote. 
The  novels  are  as  useful  as  Bibles,  if  they  teach  you  the  secret,  that 
the  best  of  life  is  conversation,  and  the  greatest  success  is  confidence, 
or  perfect  understanding  between  sincere  people.  'Tis  a  French 
definition  of  friendship,  rien  que  s'entendre,  good  understanding. 
The  highest  compact  we  can  make  with  our  fellow  is, — "Let  there 
be  truth  between  us  two  forevermore."  That  is  the  charm  hi  all 
good  novels,  as  it  is  the  charm  hi  all  good  histories,  that  the  heroes 
mutually  understand,  from  the  first,  and  deal  loyally,  and  with  a  pro- 
found trust  in  each  other.  It  is  sublime  to  feel  and  say  of  another, 
I  need  never  meet,  or  speak,  or  write  to  him:  we  need  not  reinforce 
ourselves,  or' send  tokens  of  remembrance:  I  rely  on  him  as  on  myself: 
if  he  did  thus  or  thus,  I  know  it  was  right. 

In  all  the  superior  people  I  have  met,  I  notice  directness,  truth 
spoken  more  truly,  as  if  everything  of  obstruction,  of  malformation, 
had  been  trained  away.  What  have  they  to  conceal  ?  What  have 
they  to  exhibit  ?  Between  simple  and  noble  persons  there  is  always 
a  quick  intelligence:  they  recognize  at  sight,  and  meet  on  a  better 
ground  than  the  talents  and  skills  they  may  chance  to  possess,  namely, 
on  sincerity  and  uprightness.  For,  it  is  not  what  talents  or  genius 
a  man  has,  but  how  he  is  to  his  talents,  that  constitutes  friendship  and 
character.  The  man  that  stands  by  himself,  the  universe  stands  by 


404  AMERICAN  PROSE 


him  also.  It  is  related  of  the  monk  Basle,  that,  being  excommuni- 
cated by  the  Pope,  he  was,  at  his  death,  sent  in  charge  of  an  angel  to 
find  a  fit  place  of  suffering  in  hell;  but,  such  was  the  eloquence  and 
good-humor  of  the  monk,  that,  wherever  he  went  he  was  received 
gladly,  and  civilly  treated,  even  by  the  most  uncivil  angels:  and, 
when  he  came  to  discourse  with  them,  instead  of  contradicting  or 
forcing  him,  they  took  his  part,  and  adopted  his  manners:  and  even 
good  angels  came  from  far,  to  see  him,  and  take  up  their  abode  with 
him.  The  angel  that  was  sent  to  find  a  place  of  torment  for  him, 
attempted  to  remove  him  to  a  worse  pit,  but  with  no  better  success; 
for  such  was  the  contented  spirit  of  the  monk,  that  he  found  some- 
thing to  praise  in  every  place  and  company,  though  in  hell,  and  made 
a  kind  of  heaven  of  it.  At  last  the  escorting  angel  returned  with  his 
prisoner  to  them  that  sent  him,  saying,  that  no  phlegethon  could  be 
found  that  would  burn  him;  for  that,  in  whatever  condition,  Basle 
remained  incorrigibly  Basle.  The  legend  says,  his  sentence  was 
remitted,  and  he  was  allowed  to  go  into  heaven,  and  was  canonized 
as  a  saint. 

There  is  a  stroke  of  magnanimity  in  the  correspondence  of  Bona- 
parte with  his  brother  Joseph,  wrhen  the  latter  was  King  of  Spain,  and 
complained  that  he  missed  in  Napoleon's  letters  the  affectionate  tone 
which  had  marked  their  childish  correspondence.  "I  am  sorry," 
replies  Napoleon,  "you  think  you  shall  find  your  brother  again  only 
in  the  Elysian  Fields.  It  is  natural,  that  at  forty,  he  should  not  feel 
towards  you  as  he  did  at  twelve.  But  his  feelings  towards  you  have 
greater  truth  and  strength.  His  friendship  has  the  features  of  his 
mind." 

How  much  we  forgive  to  those  who  yield  us  the  rare  spectacle  of 
heroic  manners!  We  will  pardon  them  the  want  of  books,  of  arts, 
and  even  of  the  gentler  virtues.  How  tenaciously  we  remember 
them!  Here  is  a  lesson  which  I  brought  along  with  me  in  boyhood 
from  the  Latin  School,  and  which  ranks  with  the  best  of  Roman 
anecdotes.  Marcus  Scaurus  was  accused  by  Quintus  Varius  His- 
panus,  that  he  had  excited  the  allies  to  take  arms  against  the  Republic. 
But  he,  full  of  firmness  and  gravity,  defended  himself  in  this  manner: 
"Quintus  Varius  Hispanus  alleges  that  Marcus  Scaurus,  President 
of  the  Senate,  excited  the  allies  to  arms:  Marcus  Scaurus,  President 
of  the  Senate,  denies  it.  There  is  no  witness.  Which  do  you  believe, 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  405 

Romans?"  "Utri  creditis,  Quiriles?"  When  he  had  said  these 
words,  he  was  absolved  by  the  assembly  of  the  people. 

I  have  seen  manners  that  make  a  similar  impression  with  per- 
sonal beauty;  that  give  the  like  exhilaration,  and  refine  us  like  that; 
and,  in  memorable  experiences,  they  are  suddenly  better  than  beauty, 
and  make  that  superfluous  and  ugly.  But  they  must  be  marked  by 
fine  perception,  the  acquaintance  with  real  beauty.  They  must 
always  show  self-control:  you  shall  not  be  facile,  apologetic,  or  leaky, 
but  king  over  your  word;  and  every  gesture  and  action  shall  indicate 
power  at  rest.  Then  they  must  be  inspired  by  the  good  heart. 
There  is  no  beautifier  of  complexion,  or  form,  or  behavior,  like  the 
wish  to  scatter  joy  and  not  pain  around  us.  It  is  good  to  give  a 
stranger  a  meal,  or  a  night's  lodging.  It  is  better  to  be  hospitable 
to  his  good  meaning  and  thought,  and  give  courage  to  a  companion. 
We  must  be  as  courteous  to  a  man  as  we  are  to  a  picture,  which  we 
are  willing  to  give  the  advantage  of  a  good  light.  Special  precepts 
are  not  to  be  thought  of:  the  talent  of  well-doing  contains  them  all. 
Every  hour  will  show  a  duty  as  paramount  as  that  of  my  whim  just 
now;  and  yet  I  will  write  it, — that  there  is  one  topic  peremptorily 
forbidden  to  all  well-bred,  to  all  rational  mortals,  namely,  their  dis- 
tempers. If  you  have  not  slept,  or  if  you  have  slept,  or  if  you  have 
headache,  or  sciatica,  or  leprosy,  or  thunder-stroke,  I  beseech  you, 
by  all  angels,  to  hold  your  peace,  and  not  pollute  the  morning,  to 
which  all  the  housemates  bring  serene  and  pleasant  thoughts,  by 
corruption  and  groans.  Come  out  of  the  azure.  Love  the  day.  Do 
not  leave  the  sky  out  of  your  landscape.  The  oldest  and  the  most 
deserving  person  should  come  very  modestly  into  any  newly  awaked 
company,  respecting  the  divine  communications,  out  of  which  all 
must  be  presumed  to  have  newly  come.  An  old  man  who  added  an 
elevating  culture  to  a  large  experience  of  life,  said  to  me,  "When  you 
come  into  the  room,  I  think  I  will  study  how  to  make  humanity 
beautiful  to  you." 

As  respects  the  delicate  question  of  culture,  I  do  not  think  that 
any  other  than  negative  rules  can  be  laid  down.  For  positive  rules, 
for  suggestion,  Nature  alone  inspires  it.  Who  dare  assume  to  guide 
a  youth,  a  maid,  to  perfect  manners  ? — the  golden  mean  is  so  deli- 
cate, difficult, — say  frankly,  unattainable.  What  finest  hands 
would  not  be  clumsy  to  sketch  the  genial  precepts  of  the  young 


406  AMERICAN  PROSE 


girl's  demeanor?  The  chances  seem  infinite  against  success;  and 
yet  success  is  continually  attained.  There  must  not  be  secondariness, 
and  't  is  a  thousand  to  one  that  her  air  and  manner  will  at  once 
betray  that  she  is  not  primary,  but  that  there  is  some  other  one  or 
many  of  her  class,  to  whom  she  habitually  postpones  herself.  But 
Nature  lifts  her  easily,  and  without  knowing  it,  over  these  impossi- 
bilities, and  we  are  continually  surprised  with  graces  and  felicities 
not  only  unteachable,  but  undescribable. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 
THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL 

A  PARABLE 

The  sexton  stood  in  the  porch  of  Milford  meeting  house,  pulling 
busily  at  the  bell  rope.  The  old  people  of  the  village  came  stooping 
along  the  street.  Children  with  bright  faces,  tripped  merrily  beside 
their  parents,  or  mimicked  a  graver  gait,  in  the  conscious  dignity  of 
their  Sunday  clothes.  Spruce  bachelors  looked  sidelong  at  the 
pretty  maidens,  and  fancied  that  the  Sabbath  sunshine  made  them 
prettier  than  on  week  days.  When  the  throng  had  mostly  streamed 
into  the  porch,  the  sexton  began  to  toll  the  bell,  keeping  his  eye  on 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Hooper's  door.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  clergy- 
man's figure,  was  the  signal  for  the  bell  to  cease  its  summons. 

"But  what  has  good  Parson  Hooper  got  upon  his  face?"  cried 
the  sexton  in  astonishment. 

All  within  hearing  immediately  turned  about,  and  beheld  the 
semblance  of  Mr.  Hooper,  pacing  slowly  his  meditative  way  towards 
the  meeting  house.  With  one  accord  they  started,  expressing  more 
wonder  than  if  some  strange  minister  were  coming  to  dust  the  cushions 
of  Mr.  Hooper's  pulpit. 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  our  parson  ?"  inquired  Goodman  Gray  of  the 
sexton. 

"Of  a  certainty  it  is  good  Mr.  Hooper,"  replied  the  sexton. 
"He  was  to  have  exchanged  pulpits  with  Parson  Shute,  of  Westbury; 
but  Parson  Shute  sent  to  excuse  himself  yesterday,  being  to  preach  a 
funeral  sermon." 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  407 

The  cause  of  so  much  amazement  may  appear  sufficiently  slight. 
Mr.  Hooper,  a  gentlemanly  person,  of  about  thirty,  though  still  a 
bachelor,  was  dressed  with  due  clerical  neatness,  as  if  a  careful  wife 
had  starched  his  band,  and  brushed  the  weekly  dust  from  his  Sunday's 
garb.  There  was  but  one  thing  remarkable  in  his  appearance. 
Swathed  about  his  forehead,  and  hanging  down  over  his  face,  so 
low  as  to  be  shaken  by  his  breath,  Mr.  Hooper  had  on  a  black  veil. 
On  a  nearer  view,  it  seemed  to  consist  of  two  folds  of  crape,  which 
entirely  concealed  his  features,  except  the  mouth  and  chin,  but 
probably  did  not  intercept  his  sight,  further  than  to  give  a  darkened 
aspect  to  all  living  and  inanimate  things.  With  this  gloomy  shade 
before  him,  good  Mr.  Hooper  walked  onward,  at  a  slow  and  quiet  pace, 
stooping  somewhat,  and  looking  on  the  ground,  as  is  customary  with 
abstracted  men,  yet  nodding  kindly  to  those  of  his  parishioners  who 
still  waited  on  the  meeting  house  steps.  But  so  wonder-struck  were 
they,  that  his  greeting  hardly  met  with  a  return. 

"I  can't  really  feel  as  if  good  Mr.  Hooper's  face  was  behind  that 
piece  of  crape,"  said  the  sexton. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  muttered  an  old  woman,  as  she  hobbled  into  the 
meeting  house.  "He  has  changed  himself  into  something  awful, 
only  by  hiding  his  face." 

"Our  parson  has  gone  mad!"  cried  Goodman  Gray,  following 
hun  across  the  threshold. 

A  rumor  of  some  unaccountable  phenomenon  had  preceded 
Mr.  Hooper  into  the  meeting  house,  and  set  all  the  congregation  astir. 
Few  could  refrain  from  twisting  their  heads  towards  the  door;  many 
stood  upright,  and  turned  directly  about;  while  several  little  boys 
clambered  upon  the  seats,  and  came  down  again  with  a  terrible 
racket.  There  was  a  general  bustle,  a  rustling  of  the  women's  gowns 
and  shuffling  of  the  men's  feet,  greatly  at  variance  with  that  hushed 
repose  which  should  attend  the  entrance  of  the  minister.  But  Mr. 
Hooper  appeared  not  to  notice  the  perturbation  of  his  people.  He 
entered  with  an  almost  noiseless  step,  bent  his  head  mildly  to  the 
pews  on  each  side,  and  bowed  as  he  passed  his  oldest  parishioner,  a 
white-haired  great-grandsire,  who  occupied  an  arm  chair  in  the  centre 
of  the  aisle.  It  was  strange  to  observe,  how  slowly  this  venerable 
man  became  conscious  of  something  singular  in  the  appearance  of  his 
pastor.  He  seemed  not  fully  to  partake  of  the  prevailing  wonder,  till 


4o8  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Mr.  Hooper  had  ascended  the  .stairs,  and  showed  himself  in  the  pulpit, 
face  to  face  with  his  congregation,  except  for  the  black  veil.  That 
mysterious  emblem  was  never  once  withdrawn.  It  shook  with  his 
measured  breath  as  he  gave  out  the  psalm;  it  threw  its  obscurity 
between  him  and  the  holy  page,  as  he  read  the  Scriptures;  and 
while  he  prayed,  the  veil  lay  heavily  on  his  uplifted  countenance. 
Did  he  seek  to  hide  it  from  the  dread  Being  whom  he  was  addressing  ? 
Such  was  the  effect  of  this  simple  piece  of  crape,  that  more  than 
one  woman  of  delicate  nerves  was  forced  to  leave  the  meeting  house. 
Yet  perhaps  the  pale-faced  congregation  was  almost  as  fearful  a  sight 
to  the  minister,  as  his  black  veil  to  them. 

Mr.  Hooper  had  the  reputation  of  a  good  preacher,  but  not  an 
energetic  one:  he  strove  to  win  his  people  heavenward,  by  mild, 
persuasive  influences,  rather  than  to  drive  them  thither  by  the 
thunders  of  the  Word.  The  sermon  which  he  now  delivered,  was 
marked  by  the  same  characteristics  of  style  and  manner,  as  the  general 
series  of  his  pulpit  oratory.  But  there  was  something,  either  in  the 
sentiment  of  the  discourse  itself,  or  in  the  imagination  of  the  auditors, 
which  made  it  greatly  the  most  powerful  effort  that  they  had  ever 
heard  from  their  pastor's  .lips.  It  was  tinged,  rather  more  darkly 
than  usual,  with  the  gentle  gloom  of  Mr.  Hooper's  temperament. 
The  subject  had  reference  to  secret  sin,  and  those  sad  mysteries 
which  we  hide  from  our  nearest  and  dearest,  and  would  fain  conceal 
from  our  own  consciousness,  even  forgetting  that  the  Omniscient  can 
detect  them.  A  subtle  power  was  breathed  into  his  words.  Each 
member  of  the  congregation,  the  most  innocent  girl,  and  the  man  of 
hardened  breast,  felt  as  if  the  preacher  had  crept  upon  them,  behind 
his  awful  veil,  and  discovered  their  hoarded  iniquity  of  deed  or 
thought.  Many  spread  their  clasped  hands  on  their  bosoms.  There 
was  nothing  terrible  in  what  Mr.  Hooper  said;  at  least,  no  violence; 
and  yet,  with  every  tremor  of  his  melancholy  voice,  the  hearers 
quaked.  An  unsought  pathos  came  hand  in  hand  with  awe.  So 
sensible  were  the  audience  of  some  unwonted  attribute  in  their  minis- 
ter, that  they  longed  for  a  breath  of  wind  to  blow  aside  the  veil,  almost 
believing  that  a  stranger's  visage  would  be  discovered,  though  the 
form,  gesture,  and  voice  were  those  of  Mr.  Hooper. 

At  the  close  of  the  services,  the  people  hurried  out  with  indeco- 
rous confusion,  eager  to  communicate  their  pent-up  amazement,  and 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  409 

conscious  of  lighter  spirits,  the  moment  they  lost  sight  of  the  black 
veil.  Some  gathered  in  little  circles,  huddled  closely  together,  with 
their  mouths  all  whispering  in  the  centre;  some  went  homeward  alone, 
wrapt  in  silent  meditation;  some  talked  loudly,  and  profaned  the 
Sabbath  day  with  ostentatious  laughter.  A  few  shook  their  sagacious 
heads,  intimating  that  they  could  penetrate  the  mystery;  while 
one  or  two  affirmed  that  there  was  no  mystery  at  all,  but  only  that 
Mr.  Hooper's  eyes  were  so  weakened  by  the  midnight  lamp,  as  to 
require  a  shade.  After  a  brief  interval,  forth  came  good  Mr.  Hooper 
also,  in  the  rear  of  his  flock.  Turning  his  veiled  face  from  one  group 
to  another,  he  paid  due  reverence  to  the  hoary  heads,  saluted  the 
middle  aged  with  kind  dignity,  as  their  friend  and  spiritual  guide, 
greeted  the  young  with  mingled  authority  and  love,  and  laid  his 
hands  on  the  little  children's  heads  to  bless  them.  Such  was  always 
his  custom  on  the  Sabbath  day.  Strange  and  bewildered  looks 
repaid  him  for  his  courtesy.  None,  as  on  former  occasions,  aspired 
to  the  honor  of  walking  by  their  pastor's  side.  Old  Squire  Saunders, 
doubtless  by  an  accidental  lapse  of  memory,  neglected  to  invite  Mr. 
Hooper  to  his  table,  where  the  good  clergyman  had  been  wont  to  bless 
the  food,  almost  every  Sunday  since  his  settlement.  He  returned, 
therefore,  to  the  parsonage,  and,  at  the  moment  of  closing  the  door, 
was  observed  to  look  back  upon  the  people,  all  of  whom  had  their 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  minister.  A  sad  smile  gleamed  faintly  from 
beneath  the  black  veil,  and  flickered  about  his  mouth,  glimmering  as 
he  disappeared. 

"How  strange,"  said  a  lady,  "that  a  simple  black  veil,  such  as 
any  woman  might  wear  on  her  bonnet,  should  become  such  a  terrible 
thing  on  Mr.  Hooper's  face!" 

"Something  must  surely  be  amiss  with  Mr.  Hooper's  intellects," 
observed  her  husband,  the  physician  of  the  village.  "But  the 
strangest  part  of  the  affair  is  the  effect  of  this  vagary,  even  on  a 
sober-minded  man  like  myself.  The  black  veil,  though  it  covers 
only  our  pastor's  face,  throws  its  influence  over  his  whole  person, 
and  makes  him  ghostlike  from  head  to  foot.  Do  you  not  feel  it  so  ?  " 

"Truly  do  I,"  replied  the  lady;  "and  I  would  not  be  alone  with 
him  for  the  world.  I  wonder  he  is  not  afraid  to  be  alone  with  him- 
self!" 

"Men  sometimes  are  so,"  said  her  husband. 


410  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  afternoon  service  was  attended  with  similar  circumstances. 
At  its  conclusion,  the  bell  tolled  for  the  funeral  of  a  young  lady.  The 
relatives  and  friends  were  assembled  in  the  house,  and  the  more 
distant  acquaintances  stood  about  the  door,  speaking  of  the  good 
qualities  of  the  deceased,  when  their  talk  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  Hooper,  still  covered  with  his  black  veil.  It 
was  now  an  appropriate  emblem.  The  clergyman  stepped  into  the 
room  where  the  corpse  was  laid,  and  bent  over  the  coffin,  to  take  a 
last  farewell  of  his  deceased  parishioner.  As  he  stooped,  the  veil 
hung  straight  down  from  his  forehead,  so  that,  if  her  eyelids  had  not 
been  closed  forever,  the  dead  maiden  might  have  seen  his  face. 
Could  Air.  Hooper  be  fearful  of  her  glance,  that  he  so  hastily  caught 
back  the  black  veil  ?  A  person  who  watched  the  interview  between 
the  dead  and  living,  scrupled  not  to  affirm,  that,  at  the  instant  when 
the  clergyman's  features  were  disclosed,  the  corpse  had  slightly 
shuddered,  rustling  the  shroud  and  muslin  cap,  though  the  counte- 
nance retained  the  composure  of  death.  A  superstitious  old  woman 
was  the  only  witness  of  this  prodigy.  From  the  coffin  Mr.  Hooper 
passed  into  the  chamber  of  the  mourners,  and  thence  to  the  head  of 
the  staircase,  to  make  the  funeral  prayer.  It  was  a  tender  and  heart- 
dissolving  prayer,  full  of  sorrow,  yet  so  imbued  with  celestial  hopes, 
that  the  music  of  a  heavenly  harp,  swept  by  the  fingers  of  the  dead, 
seemed  faintly  to  be  heard  among  the  saddest  accents  of  the  minister. 
The  people  trembled,  though  they  but  darkly  understood  him  when 
he  prayed  that  they,  and  himself,  and  all  of  mortal  race,  might  be 
ready,  as  he  trusted  this  young  maiden  had  been,  for  the  dreadful 
hour  that  should  snatch  the  veil  from  their  faces.  The  bearers  went 
heavily  forth,  and  the  mourners  followed,  saddening  all  the  street, 
with  the  dead  before  them,  and  Mr.  Hooper  in  his  black  veil  behind. 

"Why  do  you  look  back?"  said  one  in  the  procession  to  his 
partner. 

"I  had  a  fancy,"  replied  she,  "that  the  minister  and  the  maiden's 
spirit  were  walking  hand  in  hand." 

"And  so  had  I,  at  the  same  moment,"  said  the  other. 

That  night,  the  handsomest  couple  in  Milford  village  were  to  be 
joined  in  wedlock.  Though  reckoned  a  melancholy  man,  Mr.  Hooper 
had  a  placid  cheerfulness  for  such  occasions,  which  often  excited  a 
sympathetic  smile,  where  .livelier  merriment  would  have  been  thrown 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  411 

away.  There  was  no  quality  of  his  disposition  which  made  him  more 
beloved  than  this.  The  company  at  the  wedding  awaited  his  arrival 
with  impatience,  trusting  that  the  strange  awe,  which  had  gathered 
over  him  throughout  the  day,  would  now  be  dispelled.  But  such 
was  not  the  result.  When  Mr.  Hooper  came,  the  first  thing  that  their 
eyes  rested  on  was  the  same  horrible  black  veil,  which  had  added 
deeper  gloom  to  the  funeral,  and  could  portend  nothing  but  evil  to 
the  wedding.  Such  was  its  immediate  effect  on  the  guests,  that  a 
cloud  seemed  to  have  rolled  duskily  from  beneath  the  black  crape, 
and  dimmed  the  light  of  the  candles.  The  bridal  pair  stood  up  before 
the  minister.  But  the  bride's  cold  fingers  quivered  hi  the  tremulous 
hand  of  the  bridegroom,  and  her  deathlike  paleness  caused  a  whisper, 
that  the  maiden  who  had  been  buried  a  few  hours  before  was  come 
from  her  grave  to  be  married.  If  ever  another  wedding  were  so 
dismal,  it  was  that  famous  one,  where  they  tolled  the  wedding  knell. 
After  performing  the  ceremony,  Mr.  Hooper  raised  a  glass  of  wine 
to  his  lips,  wishing  happiness  to  the  new-married  couple,  in  a  strain 
of  mild  pleasantry  that  ought  to  have  brightened  the  features  of  the 
guests,  like  a  cheerful  gleam  from  the  hearth.  At  that  instant, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  his  figure  hi  the  looking  glass,  the  black  veil 
involved  his  own  spirit  in  the  horror  with  which  it  overwhelmed 
all  others.  His  frame  shuddered — his  lips  grew  white — he  spilt  the 
untasted  wine  upon  the  carpet — and  rushed  forth  into  the  darkness. 
For  the  earth,  too,  had  on  her  Black  Veil. 

The  next  day,  the  whole  village  of  Milford  talked  of  little  else 
than  Parson  Hooper's  black  veil.  That,  and  the  mystery  concealed 
behind  it,  supplied  a  topic  for  discussion  between  acquaintances 
meeting  in  the  street,  and  good  women  gossiping  at  their  open  win- 
dows. It  was  the  first  item  of  news  that  the  tavern  keeper  told  to  his 
guests.  The  children  babbled  of  it  on  their  way  to  school.  One 
imitative  little  imp  covered  his  face  with  an  old  black  handkerchief, 
thereby  so  affrighting  his  playmates  that  the  panic  seized  himself, 
and  he  well  nigh  lost  his  wits  by  his  own  waggery. 

It  was  remarkable  that  of  all  the  busybodies  and  impertinent 
people  in  the  parish,  not  one  ventured  to  put  the  plain  question  to 
Mr.  Hooper,  wherefore  he  did  this  thing.  Hitherto,  whenever  there 
appeared  the  slightest  call  for  such  interference,  he  had  never  lacked 
advisers,  nor  shown  himself  averse  to  be  guided  by  their  judgment. 


412  AMERICAN  PROSE 


If  he  erred  at  all,  it  was  by  so  painful  a  degree  of  self-distrust,  that 
even  the  mildest  censure  would  lead  him  to  consider  an  indifferent 
action  as  a  crime.  Yet,  though  so  well  acquainted  with  this  amiable 
weakness,  no  individual  among  his  parishioners  chose  to  make  the 
black  veil  a  subject  of  friendly  remonstrance.  There  was  a  feeling 
of  dread,  neither  plainly  confessed  nor  carefully  concealed,  which 
caused  each  to  shift  the  responsibility  upon  another,  till  at  length 
it  was  found  expedient  to  send  a  deputation  of  the  church,  in  order 
to  deal  with  Mr.  Hooper  about  the  mystery,  before  it  should  grow 
into  a  scandal.  Never  did  an  embassy  so  ill  discharge  its  duties. 
The  minister  received  them  with  friendly  courtesy,  but  became 
silent,  after  they  were  seated,  leaving  to  his  visitors  the  whole  burden 
of  introducing  their  important  business.  The  topic,  it  might  be  sup- 
posed, was  obvious  enough.  There  was  the  black  veil,  swathed 
round  Mr.  Hooper's  forehead,  and  concealing  every  feature  above  his 
placid  mouth,  on  which,  at  times,  they  could  perceive  the  glimmering 
of  a  melancholy  smile.  But  that  piece  of  crape,  to  their  imagination, 
seemed  to  hang  down  before  his  heart,  the  symbol  of  a  fearful  secret 
between  him  and  them.  Were  the  veil  but  cast  aside,  they  might 
speak  freely  of  it,  but  not  till  then.  Thus  they  sat  a  considerable 
time,  speechless,  confused,  and  shrinking  uneasily  from  Mr.  Hooper's 
eye,  which  they  felt  to  be  fixed  upon  them  with  an  invisible  glance. 
Finally,  the  deputies  returned  abashed  to  their  constituents,  pro- 
nouncing the  matter  too  weighty  to  be  handled,  except  by  a  council 
of  the  churches,  if,  indeed,  it  might  not  require  a  general  synod. 

But  there  was  one  person  in  the  village  unappalled  by  the  awe 
with  which  the  black  veil  had  impressed  all  beside  herself.  When  the 
deputies  returned  without  an  explanation,  or  even  venturing  to 
demand  one,  she,  with  the  calm  energy  of  her  character,  determined 
to  chase  away  the  strange  cloud  that  appeared  to  be  settling  round 
Mr.  Hooper,  every  moment  more  darkly  than  before.  As  his  plighted 
wife,  it  should  be  her  privilege  to  know  what  the  black  veil  concealed. 
At  the  minister's  first  visit,  therefore,  she  entered  upon  the  subject  with 
a  direct  simplicity,  which  made  the  task  easier  both  for  him  and  her. 
After  he  had  seated  himself,  she  fixed  her  eyes  steadfastly  upon  the 
veil,  but  could  discern  nothing  of  the  dreadful  gloom  that  had  so  over- 
awed the  multitude:  it  was  but  a  double  fold  of  crape,  hanging  down 
from  his  forehead  to  his  mouth,  and  slightly  stirring  with  his  breath. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  413 

"No,"  said  she  aloud,  and  smiling,  "there  is  nothing  terrible  in 
this  piece  of  crape,  except  that  it  hides  a  face  which  I  am  always 
glad  to  look  upon.  Come,  good  sir,  let  the  sun  shine  from  behind  the 
cloud.  First  lay  aside  your  black  veil :  then  tell  me  why  you  put  it  on." 

Mr.  Hooper's  smile  glimmered  faintly. 

"There  is  an  hour  to  come,"  said  he,  "when  all  of  us  shall  cast 
aside  our  veils.  Take  it  not  amiss,  beloved  friend,  if  I  wear  this 
piece  of  crape  till  then." 

"Your  words  are  a  mystery  too,"  returned  the  young  lady. 
"Take  away  the  veil  from  them,  at  least." 

"Elizabeth,  I  will,"  said  he,  "so  far  as  my  vow  may  suffer  me. 
Know,  then,  this  veil  is  a  type  and  a  symbol,  and  I  am  bound  to 
wear  it  ever,  both  in  light  and  darkness,  in  solitude  and  before  the 
gaze  of  multitudes,  and  as  with  strangers,  so  with  my  familiar  friends. 
No  mortal  eye  will  see  it  withdrawn.  This  dismal  shade  must 
separate  me  from  the  world:  even  you,  Elizabeth,  can  never  come 
behind  it!" 

"What  grievous  affliction  hath  befallen  you,"  she  earnestly 
inquired,  "that  you  should  thus  darken  your  eyes  forever?" 

"If  it  be  a  sign  of  mourning,"  replied  Mr.  Hooper,  "I,  perhaps, 
like  most  other  mortals,  have  sorrows  dark  enough  to  be  typified 
by  a  black  veil." 

"But  what  if  the  world  will  not  believe  that.it  is  the  type  of  an 
innocent  sorrow?"  urged  Elizabeth.  "Beloved  and  respected 
as  you  are,  there  may  be  whispers,  that  you  hide  your  face  under 
the  consciousness  of  secret  sin.  For  the  sake  of  your  holy  office,  do 
away  this  scandal!" 

The  color  rose  into  her  cheeks  as  she  intimated  the  nature  of  the 
rumors  that  were  already  abroad  in  the  village.  But  Mr.  Hooper's 
mildness  did  not  forsake  him.  He  even  smiled  again — that  same 
sad  smile,  which  always  appeared  like  a  faint  glimmering  of  light, 
proceeding  from  the  obscurity  beneath  the  veil. 

"If  I  hide  my  face  for  sorrow,  there  is  cause  enough,"  he  merely 
replied;  " and  if  I  cover  it  for  secret  sin,  what  mortal  might  not  do  the 
same  ?  " 

And  with  this  gentle,  but  unconquerable  obstinacy  did  he  resist 
all  her  entreaties.  At  length  Elizabeth  sat  silent.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments she  appeared  lost  in  thought,  considering,  probably,  what  new 


414  AMERICAN  PROSE 


methods  might  be  tried,  to  withdraw  her  lover  from  so  dark  a  fantasy, 
which,  if  it  had  no  other  meaning,  was  perhaps  a  symptom  of  mental 
disease.  Though  of  a  firmer  character  than  his  own,  the  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks.  But,  in  an  instant,  as  it  were,  a  new  feeling  took 
the  place  of  sorrow:  her  eyes  were  fixed  insensibly  on  the  black  veil, 
when,  like  a  sudden  twilight  in  the  air,  its  terrors  fell  around  her. 
She  arose,  and  stood  trembling  before  him. 

"And  do  you  feel  it  then  at  last  ?"  said  he  mournfully. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and 
turned  to  leave  the  room.  He  rushed  forward  and  caught  her  arm. 

"Have  patience  with  me,  Elizabeth!"  cried  he  passionately. 
"Do  not  desert  me,  though  this  veil  must  be  between  us  here  on 
earth.  Be  mine,  and  hereafter  there  shall  be  no  veil  over  my  face, 
no  darkness  between  our  souls!  It  is  but  a  mortal  veil — it  is  not  for 
eternity!  O!  you  know  not  how  lonely  I  am,  and  how  frightened, 
to  be  alone  behind  my  black  veil.  Do  not  leave  me  in  this  miserable 
obscurity  forever!" 

"Lift  the  veil  but  once,  and  look  me  in  the  face,"  said  she. 

"Never!    It  cannot  be!"  replied  Mr.  Hooper. 

"Then,  farewell!"  said  Elizabeth. 

She  withdrew  her  arm  from  his  grasp,  and  slowly  departed,  paus- 
ing at  the  door,  to  give  one  long,  shuddering  gaze,  that  seemed  almost 
to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  black  veil.  But,  even  amid  his 
grief,  Mr.  Hooper  smiled  to  think  that  only  a  material  emblem  had 
separated  him  from  happiness,  though  the  horrors,  which  it  shadowed 
forth,  must  be  drawn  darkly  between  the  fondest  of  lovers. 

From  that  time  no  attempts  were  made  to  remove  Mr.  Hooper's 
black  veil,  or,  by  a  direct  appeal,  to  discover  the  secret  which  it  was 
supposed  to  hide.  By  persons  who  claimed  a  superiority  to  popular 
prejudice,  it  was  reckoned  merely  an  eccentric  whim,  such  as  often 
mingles  with  the  sober  actions  of  men  otherwise  rational,  and  tinges 
them  all  with  its  own  semblance  of  insanity.  But  with  the  multi- 
tude, good  Mr.  Hooper  was  irreparably  a  bugbear.  He  could  not 
walk  the  street  with  any  peace  of  mind,  so  conscious  was  he  that  the 
gentle  and  timid  would  turn  aside  to  avoid  him,  and  that  others 
would  make  it  a  point  of  hardihood  to  throw  themselves  in  his  way. 
The  impertinence  of  the  latter  class  compelled  him  to  give  up  his 
customary  walk,  at  sunset,  to  the  burial  ground;  for  when  he  leaned 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  415 

pensively  over  the  gate,  there  would  always  be  faces  behind  the 
gravestones,  peeping  at  his  black  veil.  A  fable  went  the  rounds, 
that  the  stare  of  the  dead  people  drove  him  thence.  It  grieved  him, 
to  the  very  depth  of  his  kind  heart,  to  observe  how  the  children 
fled  from  his  approach,  breaking  up  their  merriest  sports,  while  his 
melancholy  figure  was  yet  afar  off.  Their  instinctive  dread  caused 
him  to  feel,  more  strongly  than  aught  else,  that  a  preternatural  horror 
was  interwoven  with  the  threads  of  the  black  crape.  In  truth,  his 
own  antipathy  to  the  veil  was  known  to  be  so  great,  that  he  never 
willingly  passed  before  a  mirror,  nor  stooped  to  drink  at  a  still 
fountain,  lest,  in  its  peaceful  bosom,  he  should  be  affrighted  by  him- 
self. This  was  what  gave  plausibility  to  the  whispers,  that  Mr. 
Hooper's  conscience  tortured  him  for  some  great  crime  too  horrible 
to  be  entirely  concealed,  or  otherwise  than  so  obscurely  intimated. 
Thus,  from  beneath  the  black  veil,  there  rolled  a  doud  into  the 
sunshine,  an  ambiguity  of  sin  or  sorrow,  which  enveloped  the  poor 
minister,  so  that  love  or  sympathy  could  never  reach  him.  It  was 
said,  that  ghost  and  fiend  consorted  with  him  there.  With  self- 
shudderings  and  outward  terrors,  he  walked  continually  in  its 
shadow,  groping  darkly  within  his  own  soul,  or  gazing  through  a  me- 
dium that  saddened  the  whole  world.  Even  the  lawless  wind,  it  was 
believed,  respected  his  dreadful  secret,  and  never  blew  aside  the  veil. 
But  still  good  Mr.  Hooper  sadly  smiled  at  the  pale  visages  of  the 
worldly  throng  as  he  passed  by. 

Among  all  its  bad  influences,  the  black  veil  had  the  one  desirable 
effect,  of  making  its  wearer  a  very  efficient  clergyman.  By  the 
aid  of  his  mysterious  emblem — for  there  was  no  other  apparent 
cause — he  became  a  man  of  awful  power,  over  souls  that  were  in 
agony  for  sin.  His  converts  always  regarded  him  with  a  dread 
peculiar  to  themselves,  affirming,  though  but  figuratively,  that, 
before  he  brought  them  to  celestial  light,  they  had  been  with  him 
behind  the  black  veil.  Its  gloom,  indeed,  enabled  him  to  sympa- 
thize with  all  dark  affections.  Dying  sinners  cried  aloud  for  Mr. 
Hooper,  and  would  not  yield  their  breath  till  he  appeared;  though 
ever,  as  he  stooped  to  whisper  consolation,  they  shuddered  at  the 
veiled  face  so  near  their  own.  Such  were  the  terrors  of  the  black 
veil,  even  when  Death  had  bared  his  visage!  Strangers  came  long 
distances  to  attend  service  at  his  church,  with  the  mere  idle  purpose 


416  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  gazing  at  his  figure,  because  it  was  forbidden  them  to  behold  his 
face.  But  many  were  made  to  quake  ere  they  departed!  Once, 
during  Governor  Belcher's  administration,  Mr.  Hooper  was  appointed 
to  preach  the  election  sermon.  Covered  with  his  black  veil,  he 
stood  before  the  chief  magistrate,  the  council,  and  the  representa- 
tives, and  wrought  so  deep  an  impression,  that  the  legislative  meas- 
ures of  that  year  were  characterized  by  all  the  gloom  and  piety  of 
our  earliest  ancestral  sway. 

In  this  manner  Mr.  Hooper  spent  a  long  life,  irreproachable  in 
outward  act,  yet  shrouded  in  dismal  suspicions;  kind  and  loving, 
though  unloved,  and  dimly  feared;  a  man  apart  from  men,  shunned 
in  their  health  and  joy,  but  ever  summoned  to  their  aid  in  mortal 
anguish.  As  years  wore  on,  shedding  their  snows  above"  his  sable 
veil,  he  acquired  a  name  throughout  the  New  England  churches,  and 
they  called  him  Father  Hooper.  Nearly  all  his  parishioners,  who 
were  of  mature  age  when  he  was  settled,  had  been  borne  away  by 
many  a  funeral:  he  had  one  congregation  in  the  church,  and  a  more 
crowded  one  in  the  churchyard;  and  having  wrought  so  late  into  the 
evening,  and  done  his  work  so  well,  it  was  now  good  Father  Hooper's 
turn  to  rest. 

Several  persons  were  visible  by  the  shaded  candle-light,  hi  the 
death  chamber  of  the  old  clergyman.  Natural  connections  he  had 
none.  But  there  was  the  decorously  grave,  though  unmoved  physi- 
cian, seeking  only  to  mitigate  the  last  pangs  of  the  patient  whom 
he  could  not  save.  There  were  the  deacons,  and  other  eminently 
pious  members  of  his  church.  There,  also,  was  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Clark,  of  Westbury,  a  young  and  zealous  divine,  who  had  ridden  in 
haste  to  pray  by  the  bedside  of  the  expiring  minister.  There  was  the 
nurse,  no  hired  handmaiden  of  death,  but  one  whose  calm  affection  had 
endured  thus  long  in  secrecy,  in  solitude,  amid  the  chill  of  age,  and 
would  not  perish,  even  at  the  dying  hour.  Who,  but  Elizabeth! 
And  there  lay  the  hoary  head  of  good  Father  Hooper  upon  the  death 
pillow,  with  the  black  veil  still  swathed  about  his  brow,  and  reaching 
down  over  his  face,  so  that  each  more  difficult  gasp  of  his  faint 
breath  caused  it  to  stir.  All  through  life  that  piece  of  crape  had 
hung  between  him  and  the  world:  it  had  separated  him  from  cheer- 
ful brotherhood  and  woman's  love,  and  kept  him  in  that  saddest  of  all 
prisons,  his  own  heart;  and  still  it  lay  upon  his  face,  as  if  to  deepen 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  417 

the  gloom  of  his  darksome  chamber,  and  shade  him  from  the  sunshine 
of  eternity. 

For  some  time  previous,  his  mind  had  been  confused,  wavering 
doubtfully  between  the  past  and  the  present,  and  hovering  forward, 
as  it  were,  at  intervals,  into  the  indistinctness  of  the  world  to  come. 
There  had  been  feverish  turns,  which  tossed  him  from  side  to  side, 
and  wore  away  what  little  strength  he  had.  But  in  his  most  convul- 
sive struggles,  and  in  the  wildest  vagaries  of  his  intellect,  when  no 
other  thought  retained  its  sober  influence,  he  still  showed  an  awful 
solicitude  lest  the  black  veil  should  slip  aside.  Even  if  his  bewildered 
soul  could  have  forgotten,  there  was  a  faithful  woman  at  his  pillow, 
who,  with  averted  eyes,  would  have  covered  that  aged  face,  which 
she  had  last  beheld  in  the  comeliness  of  manhood.  At  length  the 
death-stricken  old  man  lay  quietly  in  the  torpor  of  mental  and  bodily 
exhaustion,  with  an  imperceptible  pulse,  and  breath  that  grew 
fainter  and  fainter,  except  when  a  long,  deep,  and  irregular  inspiration 
seemed  to  prelude  the  flight  of  his  spirit. 

The  minister  of  Westbury  approached  the  bedside. 

"Venerable  Father  Hooper,"  said  he,  "the  moment  of  your 
release  is  at  hand.  Are  you  ready  for  the  lifting  of  the  veil,  that  shuts 
in  time  from  eternity?" 

Father  Hooper  at  first  replied  merely  by  a  feeble  motion  of  his 
head;  then,  apprehensive,  perhaps,  that  his  meaning  might  be 
doubtful,  he  exerted  himself  to  speak. 

"Yea,"  said  he,  in  fault  accents,  "my  soul  hath  a  patient  weari- 
ness until  that  veil  be  lifted." 

"And  is  it  fitting,"  resumed  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark,  "that  a 
man  so  given  to  prayer,  of  such  a  blameless  example,  holy  in  deed 
and  thought,  so  far  as  mortal  judgment  may  pronounce;  is  it  fitting 
that  a  father  in  the  church  should  leave  a  shadow  on  his  memory,  that 
may  seem  to  blacken  a  life  so  pure?  I  pray  you,  my  venerable 
brother,  let  not  this  thing  be!  Suffer  us  to  be  gladdened  by  your 
triumphant  aspect,  as  you  go  to  your  reward.  Before  the  veil  of 
eternity  be  lifted,  let  me  cast  aside  this  black  veil  from  your  face!" 

And  thus  speaking,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark  bent  forward  to 
reveal  the  mystery  of  so  many  years.  But,  exerting  a  sudden  energy, 
that  made  all  the  beholders  stand  aghast,  Father  Hooper  snatched 
both  his  hands  from  beneath  the  bed  clothes,  and  pressed  them 


4i8  AMERICAN  PROSE 


strongly  on  the  black  veil,  resolute  to  struggle,  if  the  minister  of 
Westbury  would  contend  with  a  dying  man. 

"Never!"  cried  the  veiled  clergyman.    "On  earth,  never!" 

"Dark  old  man!"  exclaimed  the  affrighted  minister,  "with  what 
horrible  crime  upon  your  soul  are  you  now  passing  to  the  judgment  ?" 

Father  Hooper's  breath  heaved;  it  rattled  in  his  throat;  but, 
with  a  mighty  effort,  grasping  forward  with  his  hands,  he  caught  hold 
of  life,  and  held  it  back  till  he  should  speak.  He  even  raised  himself  in 
bed;  and  there  he  sat,  shivering  with  the  arms  of  death  around  him, 
while  the  black  veil  hung  down,  awful,  at  that  last  moment,  in  the 
gathered  terrors  of  a  lifetime.  And  yet  the  faint,  sad  smile,  so  often 
there,  now  seemed  to  glimmer  from  its  obscurity,  and  linger  on 
Father  Hooper's  lips. 

"Why  do  you  tremble  at  me  alone  ?"  cried  he,  turning  his  veiled 
face  round  the  circle  of  pale  spectators.  "Tremble  also  at  each 
other!  Have  men  avoided  me,  and  women  shown  no  pity,  and 
children  screamed  and  fled,  only  for  my  black  veil  ?  What,  but  the 
mystery  which  it  obscurely  typifies,  has  made  this  piece  of  crape  so 
awful?  When  the  friend  shows  his  inmost  heart  to  his  friend;  the 
lover  to  his  best  beloved;  when  man  does  not  vainly  shrink  from  the 
eye  of  his  Creator,  loathsomely  treasuring  up  the  secret  of  his  sin; 
then  deem  me  a  monster,  for  the  symbol  beneath  which  I  have  lived, 
and  die !  I  look  around  me,  and,  lo !  on  every  visage  a  Black  Veil ! " 

While  his  auditors  shrank  from  one  another,  in  mutual  affright, 
Father  Hooper  fell  back  upon  his  pillow,  a  veiled  corpse,  with  a  faint 
smile  lingering  on  the  lips.  Still  veiled,  they  laid  him  in  his  coffin, 
and  a  veiled  corpse  they  bore  him  to  the  grave.  The  grass  of  many 
years  has  sprung  up  and  withered  on  that  grave,  the  burial  stone 
is  moss-grown,  and  good  Mr.  Hooper's  face  is  dust;  but  awful  is 
still  the  thought  that  it  mouldered  beneath  the  Black  Veil! 

DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT 

That  very  singular  man,  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  once  invited  four 
venerable  friends  to  meet  him  in  his  study.  There  were  three  white- 
bearded  gentlemen,  Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and  Mr. 
Gascoigne,  and  a  withered  gentlewoman,  whose  name  was  the  Widow 
Wycherly.  They  were  all  melancholy  old  creatures,  who  had  been 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  4*9 

unfortunate  in  life,  and  whose  greatest  misfortune  it  was,  that  they 
were  not  long  ago  in  their  graves.  Mr.  Medbourne,  in  the  vigor  of 
his  age,  had  been  a  prosperous  merchant,  but  had  lost  his  all  by  a 
frantic  speculation,  and  was  now  little  better  than  a  mendicant. 
Colonel  Killigrew  had  wasted  his  best  years,  and  his  health  and 
substance,  in  the  pursuit  of  sinful  pleasures,  which  had  given  birth  to 
a  brood  of  pains,  such  as  the  gout,  and  divers  other  torments  of  soul 
and  body.  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  a  ruined  politician,  a  man  of  evil 
fame,  or  at  least  had  been  so,  till  time  had  buried  him  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  present  generation,  and  made  him  obscure  instead  of 
infamous.  As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly,  tradition  tells  us  that  she 
was  a  great  beauty  in  her  day;  but,  for  a  long  while  past,  she  had 
lived  in  deep  seclusion,  on  account  of  certain  scandalous  stories,  which 
had  prejudiced  the  gentry  of  the  town  against  her.  It  is  a  circum- 
stance worth  mentioning,  that  each  of  these  three  old  gentlemen, 
Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gascoigne,  were  early 
lovers  of  the  Widow  Wycherly,  and  had  once  been  on  the  point  of 
cutting  each  other's  throats  for  her  sake.  And,  before  proceeding 
further,  I  will  merely  hint,  that  Dr.  Heidegger  and  all  his  four  guests 
were  sometimes  thought  to  be  a  little  beside  themselves;  as  is  not 
unfrequently  the  case  with  old  people,  when  worried  either  by  present 
troubles  or  woful  recollections. 

"My  dear  old  friends,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  motioning  them  to 
be  seated,  "I  am  desirous  of  your  assistance  in  one  of  those  little 
experiments  with  which  I  amuse  myself  here  in  my  study." 

If  all  stories  were  true,  Dr.  Heidegger's  study  must  have  been  avery 
curious  place.  It  was  a  dim,  old-fashioned  chamber,  festooned  with 
cobwebs,  and  besprinkled  with  antique  dust.  Around  the  walls  stood 
several  oaken  bookcases,  the  lower  shelves  of  which  were  filled  with 
rows  of  gigantic  folios,  and  black-letter  quartoes,  and  the  upper  with 
little  parchment-covered  duodecimoes.  Over  the  central  bookcase 
was  a  bronze  bust  of  Hippocrates,  with  which,  according  to  some 
authorities,  Dr.  Heidegger  was  accustomed  to  hold  consultations,  in 
all  difficult  cases  of  his  practice.  In  the  obscurest  corner  of  the  room 
stood  a  tall  and  narrow  oaken  closet,  with  its  door  ajar,  within  which 
doubtfully  appeared  a  skeleton.  Between  two  of  the  bookcases 
hung  a  looking  glass,  presenting  its  high  and  dusty  plate  within  a 
tarnished  gilt  frame.  Among  many  wonderful  stories  related  of  this 


420  AMERICAN  PROSE 


mirror,  it  was  fabled  that  the  spirits  of  all  the  doctor's  deceased 
patients  dwelt  within  its  verge,  and  would  stare  him  hi  the  face 
whenever  he  looked  thitherward.  The  opposite  side  of  the  chamber 
was  ornamented  with  the  full-length  portrait  of  a  young  lady,  arrayed 
in  the  faded  magnificence  of  silk,  satin,  and  brocade,  and  with  a 
visage  as  faded  as  her  dress.  Above  half  a  century  ago,  Dr.  Heidegger 
had  been  on  the  point  of  marriage  with  this  young  lady;  but,  being 
affected  with  some  slight  disorder,  she  had  swallowed  one  of  her 
lover's  prescriptions,  and  died  on  the  bridal  evening.  The  greatest 
curiosity  of  the  study  remains  to  be  mentioned;  it  was  a  ponderous 
folio  volume,  bound  in  black  leather,  with  massive  silver  clasps. 
There  were  no  letters  on  the  back,  and  nobody  could  tell  the  title  of 
the  book.  But  it  was  well  known  to  be  a  book  of  magic;  and  once, 
when  a  chambermaid  had  lifted  it,  merely  to  brush  away  the  dust, 
the  skeleton  had  rattled  in  its  closet,  the  picture  of  the  young  lady  had 
stepped  one  foot  upon  the  floor,  and  several  ghastly  faces  had  peeped 
forth  from  the  mirror;  while  the  brazen  head  of  Hippocrates  frowned, 
and  said — "Forbear!" 

Such  was  Dr.  Heidegger's  study.  On  the  summer  afternoon  of 
our  tale,  a  small  round  table,  as  black  as  ebony,  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  sustaining  a  cut-glass  vase,  of  beautiful  form  and  elabo- 
rate workmanship.  The  sunshine  came  through  the  window,  between 
the  heavy  festoons  of  two  faded  damask  curtains,  and  fell  directly 
across  this  vase;  so  that  a  mild  splendor  was  reflected  from  it  on  the 
ashen  visages  of  the  five  old  people  who  sat  around.  Four  champagne 
glasses  were  also  on  the  table. 

"My  dear  old  friends,"  repeated  Dr.  Heidegger,  "may  I  reckon 
on  your  aid  in  performing  an  exceedingly  curious  experiment  ?  " 

Now  Dr.  Heidegger  was  a  very  strange  old  gentleman,  whose 
eccentricity  had  become  the  nucleus  for  a  thousand  fantastic  stories. 
Some  of  these  fables,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  might  possibly  be 
traced  back  to  mine  own  veracious  self;  and  if  any. passages  of  the 
present  tale  should  startle  the  reader's  faith,  I  must  be  content  to  bear 
the  stigma  of  a  fiction  monger. 

When  the  doctor's  four  guests  heard  him  talk  of  his  proposed 
experiment,  they  anticipated  nothing  more  wonderful  than  the 
murder  of  a  mouse  in  an  air  pump,  or  the  examination  of  a  cobweb  by 
the  microscope,  or  some  similar  nonsense,  with  which  he  was  con- 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  421 

stantly  in  the  habit  of  pestering  his  intimates.  But  without  waiting 
for  a  reply,  Dr.  Heidegger  hobbled  across  the  chamber,  and  returned 
with  the  same  ponderous  folio,  bound  in  black  leather,  which  common 
report  affirmed  to  be  a  book  of  magic.  Undoing  the  silver  clasps,  he 
opened  the  volume,  and  took  from  among  its  black-letter  pages  a  rose, 
or  what  was  once  a  rose,  though  now  the  green  leaves  and  crimson 
petals  had  assumed  one  brownish  hue,  and  the  ancient  flower  seemed 
ready  to  crumble  to  dust  in  the  doctor's  hands. 

"This  rose,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  with  a  sigh,  "this  same  withered 
and  crumbling  flower,  blossomed  five  and  fifty  years  ago.  It  was 
given  me  by  Sylvia  Ward,  whose  portrait  hangs  yonder;  and  I  meant 
to  wear  it  in  my  bosom  at  our  wedding.  Five  and  fifty  years  it  has 
been  treasured  between  the  leaves  of  this  old  volume.  Now,  would 
you  deem  it  possible  that  this  rose  of  half  a  century  could  ever  bloom 
again  ?  " 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  Widow  Wycherly,  with  a  peevish  toss  of 
her  head.  "You  might  as  welt  ask  whether  an  old  woman's  wrinkled 
face  could  ever  bloom  again." 

"See!"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger. 

He  uncovered  the  vase,  and  threw  the  faded  rose  into  the  water 
which  it  contained.  At  first,  it  lay  lightly  on  the  surface  of  the  fluid, 
appearing  to  imbibe  none  of  its  moisture.  Soon,  however,  a  singular 
change  began  to  be  visible.  The  crushed  and  dried  petals  stirred,  and 
assumed  a  deepening  tinge  of  crimson,  as  if  the  flower  were  reviving 
from  a  deathlike  slumber;  the  slender  stalk  and  twigs  of  foliage 
Became  green;  and  there  was  the  rose  of  half  a  century,  looking  as 
fresh  as  when  Sylvia  Ward  had  first  given  it  to  her  lover.  It  was 
scarcely  full  blown;  for  some  of  its  delicate  red  leaves  curled  modestly 
around  its  moist  bosom,  within  which  two  or  three  dewdrops  were 
sparkling. 

"That  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  deception,"  said  the  doctor's 
friends;  carelessly,  however,  for  they  had  witnessed  greater  miracles 
at  a  conjurer's  show;  "pray  how  was  it  effected  ? " 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  the  'Fountain  of  Youth?'"  asked  Dr. 
Heidegger,  "which  Ponce  De  Leon,  the  Spanish  adventurer,  went 
in  search  of,  two  or  three  centuries  ago  ?  " 

"But  did  Ponce  De  Leon  ever  find  it?"  said  the  Widow 
Wycherly. 


422  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"No,"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger,  "for  he  never  sought  it  in  the 
right  place.  The  famous  Fountain  of  Youth,  if  I  am  rightly  informed, 
is  situated  in  the  southern  part  of  the  Floridian  peninsula,  not  far 
from  Lake  Macaco.  Its  source  is  overshadowed  by  several  gigantic 
magnolias,  which,  though  numberless  centuries  old,  have  been  kept 
as  fresh  as  violets,  by  the  virtues  of  this  wonderful  water.  An 
acquaintance  of  mine,  knowing  my  curiosity  in  such  matters,  has  sent 
me  what  you  see  in  the  vase." 

"Ahem!"  said  Colonel  Killigrew,  who  believed  not  a  word  of  the 
doctor's  story;  "and  what  may  be  the  effect  of  this  fluid  on  the 
human  frame  ?  " 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself,  my  dear  colonel,"  replied 
Dr.  Heidegger;  "and  all  of  you,  my  respected  friends,  are  welcome 
to  so  much  of  this  admirable  fluid  as  may  restore  to  you  the 
bloom  of  youth.  For  my  own  part,  having  had  much  trouble 
in  growing  old,  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  grow  young  again.  With  your 
permission,  therefore,  I  will  merely  watch  the  progress  of  the 
experiment." 

While  he  spoke,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  filling  the  four  cham- 
pagne glasses  with  the  water  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth.  It  was 
apparently  impregnated  with  an  effervescent  gas,  for  little  bubbles 
were  continually  ascending  from  the  depths  of  the  glasses,  and  bursting 
hi  silvery  spray  at  the  surface.  As  the  liquor  diffused  a  pleasant 
perfume,  the  old  people  doubted  not  that  it  possessed  cordial  and 
comfortable  properties;  and,  though  utter  sceptics  as  to  its  rejuvenes- 
cent power,  they  were  inclined  to  swallow  it  at  once.  But  Dr. 
Heidegger  besought  them  to  stay  a  moment. 

"Before  you  drink,  my  respectable  old  friends,"  said  he,  "it 
would  be  well  that,  with  the  experience  of  a  lifetime  to  direct  you, 
you  should  draw  up  a  few  general  rules  for  your  guidance,  in  passing 
a  second  time  through  the  perils  of  youth.  Think  what  a  sin  and 
shame  it  would  be,  if,  with  your  peculiar  advantages,  you  should  not 
become  patterns  of  virtue  and  wisdom  to  all  the  young  people  of  the 
age!" 

The  doctor's  four  venerable  friends  made  him  no  answer,  except 
by  a  feeble  and  tremulous  laugh;  so  very  ridiculous  was  the  idea, 
that,  knowing  how  closely  repentance  treads  behind  the  steps  of  error, 
they  should  ever  go  astray  again. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  423 

"Drink,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  bowing:  "I  rejoice  that  I  have 
so  well  selected  the  subjects  of  my  experiment." 

With  palsied  hands,  they  raised  the  glasses  to  their  lips.  The 
liquor,  if  it  really  possessed  such  virtues  as  Dr.  Heidegger  imputed 
to  it,  could  not  have  been  bestowed  on  four  human  beings  who  needed 
it  more  wofully.  They  looked  as  if  they  had  never  known  what 
youth  or  pleasure  was,  but  had  been  the  offspring  of  Nature's  dotage, 
and  always  the  gray,  decrepit,  sapless,  miserable  creatures,  who  now 
sat  stooping  round  the  doctor's  table,  without  life  enough  in  their 
souls  or  bodies  to  be  animated  even  by  the  prospect  of  growing 
young  again.  They  drank  off  the  water,  and  replaced  their  glasses 
on  the  table. 

Assuredly  there  was  an  almost  immediate  improvement  in  the 
aspect  of  the  party,  not  unlike  what  might  have  been  produced  by  a 
glass  of  generous  wine,  together  with  a  sudden  glow  of  cheerful  sun- 
shine, brightening  over  all  their  visages  at  once.  There  was  a  health- 
ful suffusion  on  their  cheeks,  instead  of  the  ashen  hue  that  had  made 
them  look  so  corpse-like.  They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied 
that  some  magic  power  had  really  begun  to  smooth  away  the  deep 
and  sad  inscriptions  which  Father  Time  had  been  so  long  engraving 
on  their  brows.  The  Widow  Wycherly  adjusted  her  cap,  for  she  felt 
almost  like  a  woman  again. 

"Give  us  more  of  this  wondrous  water!"  cried  they,  eagerly. 
"We  are  younger — but  we  are  still  too  old!  Quick — give  us  more!" 

"Patience,  patience!"  quoth  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat  watching 
the  experiment,  with  philosophic  coolness.  "You  have  been  a 
long  time  growing  old.  Surely,  you  might  be  content  to  grow 
young  in  half  an  hour!  But  the  water  is  at  your  service." 

Again  he  filled  their  glasses  with  the  liquor  of  youth,  enough 
of  which  still  remained  in  the  vase  to  turn  half  the  old  people  hi  the 
city  to  the  age  of  their  own  grandchildren.  While  the  bubbles  were 
yet  sparkling  on  the  brim,  the  doctor's  four  guests  snatched  their 
glasses  from  the  table,  and  swallowed  the  contents  at  a  single  gulp. 
Was  it  delusion?  even  while  the  draught  was  passing  down  their 
throats,  it  seemed  to  have  wrought  a  change  on  their  whole  systems. 
Their  eyes  grew  clear  and  bright;  a  dark  shade  deepened  among  their 
silvery  locks;  they  sat  around  the  table,  three  gentlemen,  of  middle 
age,  and  a  woman,  hardly  beyond  her  buxom  prime. 


424  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"My  dear  widow,  you  are  charming!"  cried  Colonel  Killigrew, 
whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  her  face,  while  the  shadows  of  age 
were  flitting  from  it  like  darkness  from  the  crimson  daybreak. 

The  fair  widow  knew,  of  old,  that  Colonel  Killigrew's  compliments 
were  not  always  measured  by  sober  truth;  so  she  started  up  and  ran  to 
the  mirror,  still  dreading  that  the  ugly  visage  of  an  old  woman  would 
meet  her  gaze.  Meanwhile,  the  three  gentlemen  behaved  in  such  a 
manner,  as  proved  that  the  water  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth  possessed 
some  intoxicating  qualities;  unless,  indeed,  their  exhilaration  of 
spirits  were  merely  a  lightsome  dizziness,  caused  by  the  sudden 
removal  of  the  weight  of  years.  Mr.  Gascoigne's  mind  seemed  to 
run  on  political  topics,  but  whether  relating  to  the  past,  present,  or 
future,  could  not  easily  be  determined,  since  the  same  ideas  and 
phrases  have  been  in  vogue  these  fifty  years.  Now  he  rattled  forth 
full-throated  sentences  about  patriotism,  national  glory,  and  the 
people's  right;  now  he  muttered  some  perilous  stuff  or  other,  in  a 
sly  and  doubtful  whisper,  so  cautiously  that  even  his  own  conscience 
could  scarcely  catch  the  secret;  and  now,  again,  he  spoke  in  measured 
accents,  and  a  deeply  deferential  tone,  as  if  a  royal  ear  were  listening 
to  his  well-turned  periods.  Colonel  Killigrew  all  this  time  had  been 
trolling  forth  a  jolly  bottle  song,  and  ringing  his  glass  in  symphony 
with  the  chorus,  while  his  eyes  wandered  toward  the  buxom  figure 
of  the  Widow  Wycherly.  On  the  other  side  of  the  table,  Mr.  MeoV 
bourne  was  involved  in  a  calculation  of  dollars  and  cents,  with 
which  was  strangely  intermingled  a  project  for  supplying  the  East 
Indies  with  ice,  by  harnessing  a  team  of  whales  to  the  polar  icebergs. 

As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly,  she  stood  before  the  mirror  courtesy- 
ing  and  simpering  to  her  own  image,  and  greeting  it  as  the  friend 
whom  she  loved  better  than  all  the  world  beside.  She  thrust  her 
face  close  to  the  glass,  to  see  whether  some  long-remembered  wrinkle 
or  crow's  foot  had  indeed  vanished.  She  examined  whether  the 
snow  had  so  entirely  melted  from  her  hair,  that  the  venerable  cap 
could  be  safely  thrown  aside.  At  last,  turning  briskly  away,  she 
came  with  a  sort  of  dancing  step  to  the  table. 

"My  dear  old  doctor,"  cried  she,  "pray  favor  me  with  another 
glass!" 

"Certainly,  my  dear  madam,  certainly!"  replied  the  complaisant 
doctor;  "see!  I  have  already  filled  the  glasses." 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  425 

There,  in  fact,  stood  the  four  glasses,  brimful  of  this  wonderful 
water,  the  delicate  spray  of  which,  as  it  effervesced  from  the  surface, 
resembled  the  tremulous  glitter  of  diamonds.  It  was  now  so  nearly 
sunset,  that  the  chamber  had  grown  duskier  than  ever;  but  a  mild 
and  moonlike  splendor  gleamed  from  within  the  vase,  and  rested  alike 
on  the  four  guests,  and  on  the  doctor's  venerable  figure.  He  sat  in  a 
high-backed,  elaborately-carved,  oaken  arm  chair,  with  a  gray 
dignity  of  aspect  that  might  have  well  befitted  that  very  Father  Time, 
whose  power  had  never  been  disputed,  save  by  this  fortunate  com- 
pany. Even  while  quaffing  the  third  draught  of  the  Fountain  of 
Youth,  they  were  almost  awed  by  the  expression  of  his  mysterious 
visage. 

But,  the  next  moment,  the  exhilarating  gush  of  young  life  shot 
through  their  veins.  They  were  now  in  the  happy  prime  of  youth. 
Age,  with  its  miserable  train  of  cares,  and  sorrows,  and  diseases, 
was  remembered  only  as  the  trouble  of  a  dream,  from  which  they 
had  joyously  awoke.  The  fresh  gloss  of  the  soul,  so  early  lost, 
and  without  which  the  world's  successive  scenes  had  been  but  a 
gallery  of  faded  pictures,  again  threw  its  enchantment  over  all  their 
prospects.  They  felt  like  new-created  beings,  in  a  new-created 
universe. 

"We  are  young!    We  are  young!"  they  cried  exultingly. 

Youth,  like  the  extremity  of  age,  had  effaced  the  strongly-marked 
characteristics  of  middle  life,  and  mutually  assimilated  them  all. 
They  were  a  group  of  merry  youngsters,  almost  maddened  with  the 
exuberant  frolicsomeness  of  their  years.  The  most  singular  effect  of 
their  gayety  was  an  impulse  to  mock  the  infirmity  and  decrepitude 
of  which  they  had  so  lately  been  the  victims.  They  laughed  loudly 
at  their  old-fashioned  attire,  the  wide-skirted  coats  and  flapped 
waistcoats  of  the  young  men,  and  the  ancient  cap  and  gown  of  the 
blooming  girl.  One  limped  across  the  floor,  like  a  gouty  grandfather; 
one  set  a  pair  of  spectacles  astride  of  his  nose,  and  pretended  to  pore 
over  the  black-letter  pages  of  the  book  of  magic ;  a  third  seated  him- 
self in  an  arm  chair,  and  strove  to  imitate  the  venerable  dignity  of 
Dr.  Heidegger.  Then  all  shouted  mirthfully,  and  leaped  about  the, 
room.  The  Widow  Wycherly — if  so  fresh  a  damsel  could  be  called 
a  widow — tripped  up  to  the  doctor's  chair,  with  a  mischievous  merri- 
ment in  her  rosy  face. 


426  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"Doctor,  you  dear  old  soul,"  cried  she,  "get  up  and  dance  with 
me!"  And  then  the  four  young  people  laughed  louder  than  ever,  to 
think  what  a  queer  figure  the  poor  old  doctor  would  cut. 

"Pray  excuse  me,"  answered  the  doctor  quietly.  "I  am  old 
and  rheumatic,  and  my  dancing  days  were  over  long  ago.  But  either 
of  these  gay  young  gentlemen  will  be  glad  of  so  pretty  a  partner." 

"Dance  with  me,  Clara!"  cried  Colonel  Killigrew. 

"No,  no,  I  will  be  her  partner!"  shouted  Mr.  Gascoigne. 

"She  promised  me  her  hand,  fifty  years  agol"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Medbourne. 

They  all  gathered  round  her.  One  caught  both  her  hands  in  his 
passionate  grasp — another  threw  his  arm  about  her  waist — the  third 
buried  his  hand  among  the  glossy  curls  that  clustered  beneath  the 
widow's  cap.  Blushing,  panting,  struggling,  chiding,  laughing,  her 
warm  breath  fanning  each  of  their  faces  by  turns,  she  strove  to  dis- 
engage herself,  yet  still  remained  in  their  triple  embrace.  Never  was 
there  a  livelier  picture  of  youthful  rivalship,  with  bewitching  beauty 
for  the  prize.  Yet,  by  a  strange  deception,  owing  to  the  duskiness  of 
the  chamber,  and  the  antique  dresses  which  they  still  wore,  the 
tall  mirror  is  said  to  have  reflected  the  figures  of  the  three  old,  gray, 
withered  grandsires,  ridiculously  contending  for  the  skinny  ugliness 
of  a  shrivelled  grandam. 

But  they  were  young:  their  burning  passions  proved  them  so. 
Inflamed  to  madness  by  the  coquetry  of  the  girl-widow,  who  neither 
granted  nor  quite  withheld  her  favors,  the  three  rivals  began  to  inter- 
change threatening  glances.  Still  keeping  hold  of  the  fair  prize,  they 
grappled  fiercely  at  one  another's  throats.  As  they  struggled  to  and 
fro,  the  table  was  overturned,  and  the  vase  dashed  into  a  thousand 
fragments.  The  precious  Water  of  Youth  flowed  in  a  bright  stream 
across  the  floor,  moistening  the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  which,  grown  old 
in  the  decline  of  summer,  had  alighted  there  to  die.  The  insect 
fluttered  lightly  through  the  chamber,  and  settled  on  the  snowy 
head  of  Dr.  Heidegger. 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen! — come,  Madame  Wycherly,"  exclaimed 
the  doctor,  "I  really  must  protest  against  this  riot." 

They  stood  still,  and  shivered;  for  it  seemed  as  if  gray  Time  were 
calling  them  back  from  their  sunny  youth,  far  down  into  the  chill 
and  darksome  vale  of  years.  They  looked  at  old  Dr.  Heidegger, 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  427 

who  sat  in  his  carved  arm  chair,  holding  the  rose  of  half  a  century, 
which  he  had  rescued  from  among  the  fragments  of  the  shattered 
vase.  At  the  motion  of  his  hand,  the  four  rioters  resumed  their 
seats;  the  more  readily,  because  their  violent  exertions  had  wearied 
them,  youthful  though  they  were. 

"My  poor  Sylvia's  rose!"  ejaculated  Dr.  Heidegger,  holding  it  in 
the  light  of  the  sunset  clouds;  "it  appears  to  be  fading  again." 

And  so  it  was.  Even  while  the  party  were  looking  at  it,  the 
flower  continued  to  shrivel  up,  till  it  became  as  dry  and  fragile  as 
when  the  doctor  had  first  thrown  it  into  the  vase.  He  shook  off 
the  few  drops  of  moisture  which  clung  to  its  petals. 

"I  love  it  as  well  thus,  as  in  its  dewy  freshness,"  observed  he, 
pressing  the  withered  rose  to  his  withered  lips.  While  he  spoke, 
the  butterfly  fluttered  down  from  the  doctor's  snowy  head,  and  fell 
upon  the  floor. 

His  guests  shivered  again.  A  strange  dullness,  whether  of  the 
body  or  spirit  they  could  not  tell,  was  creeping  gradually  over  them 
all.  They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that  each  fleeting 
moment  snatched  away  a  charm,  and  left  a  deepening  furrow  where 
none  had  been  before.  Was  it  an  illusion  ?  Had  the  changes  of  a 
lifetime  been  crowded  into  so  brief  a  space,  and  were  they  now  four 
aged  people,  sitting  with  their  old  friend,  Dr.  Heidegger  ? 

"Are  we  grown  old  again,  so  soon?"  cried  they,  dolefully. 

In  truth,  they  had.  The  Water  of  Youth  possessed  merely  a 
virtue  more  transient  than  that  of  wine.  The  delirium  which  it 
created  had  effervesced  away.  Yes!  they  were  old  again.  With  a 
shuddering  impulse,  that  showed  her  a  woman  still,  the  widow  clasped 
her  skinny  hands  before  her  face,  and  wished  that  the  coffin  lid  were 
over  it,  since  it  could  be  no  longer  beautiful. 

"Yes,  friends,  ye  are  old  again,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger;  "and  lo! 
the  Water  of  Youth  is  all  lavished  on  the  ground.  Well — I  bemoan 
it  not;  for  if  the  fountain  gushed  at  my  very  doorstep,  I  would  not 
stoop  to  bathe  my  lips  in  it — no,  though  its  delirium  were  for  years 
instead  of  moments.  Such  is  the  lesson  ye  have  taught  me!" 

But  the  doctor's  four  friends  had  taught  no  such  lesson  to  them- 
selves. They  resolved  forthwith  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Florida, 
and  quaff  at  morning,  noon,  and  night,  from  the  fountain  of 
Youth. 


428  AMERICAN  PROSE 


RAPPACCINI'S  DAUGHTER 

A  young  man,  named  Giovanni  Guasconti,  came,  very  long  ago, 
from  the  more  southern  region  of  Italy,  to  pursue  his  studies  at  the 
University  of  Padua.  Giovanni,  who  had  but  a  scanty  supply  of 
gold  ducats  in  his  pocket,  took  lodgings  in  a  high  and  gloomy  cham- 
ber of  an  old  edifice  which  looked  not  unworthy  to  have  been  the 
palace  of  a  Paduan  noble,  and  which,  in  fact,  exhibited  over  its 
entrance  the  armorial  bearings  of  a  family  long  since  extinct.  The 
young  stranger,  who  was  not  unstudied  in  the  great  poem  of  his 
country,  recollected  that  one  of  the  ancestors  of  this  family,  and 
perhaps  an  occupant  of  this  very  mansion,  had  been  pictured  by 
Dante  as  a  partaker  of  the  immortal  agonies  of  his  Inferno.  These 
reminiscences  and  associations,  together  with  the  tendency  to  heart- 
break natural  to  a  young  man  for  the  first  time  out  of  his  native  sphere, 
caused  Giovanni  to  sigh  heavily  as  he  looked  around  the  desolate 
and  ill-furnished  apartment. 

"Holy  Virgin,  signor,"  cried  old  Dame  Lisabetta,  who,  won  by 
the  youth's  remarkable  beauty  of  person,  was  kindly  endeavoring 
to  give  the  chamber  a  habitable  air,  "what  a  sigh  was  that  to  come 
out  of  a  young  man's  heart!  Do  you  find  this  old  mansion  gloomy  ? 
For  the  love  of  Heaven,  then,  put  your  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
you  will  see  as  bright  sunshine  as  you  have  left  in  Naples." 

Guasconti  mechanically  did  as  the  old  woman  advised,  but  could 
not  quite  agree  with  her  that  the  Paduan  sunshine  was  as  cheerful 
as  that  of  southern  Italy.  Such  as  it  was,  however,  it  fell  upon  a 
garden  beneath  the  window  and  expended  its  fostering  influences  on 
a  variety  of  plants,  which  seemed  to  have  been  cultivated  with 
exceeding  care. 

"Does  this  garden  belong  to  the  house?"  asked  Giovanni. 

"Heaven  forbid,  signor,  unless  it  were  fruitful  of  better  pot  herbs 
than  any  that  grow  there  now,"  answered  old  Lisabetta.  "No; 
that  garden  is  cultivated  by  the  own  hands  of  Signor  Giacomo  Rap- 
paccini,  the  famous  doctor,  who,  I  warrant  him,  has  been  heard  of  as 
far  as  Naples.  It  is  said  that  he  distils  these  plants  into  medicines 
that  are  as  potent  as  a  charm.  Oftentimes  you  may  see  the  signor 
doctor  at  work,  and  perchance  the  signora,  his  daughter,  too,  gather- 
nig  the  strange  flowers  that  grow  in  the  garden." 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  429 

The  old  woman  had  now  done  what  she  could  for  the  aspect  of  the 
chamber;  and,  commending  the  young  man  to  the  protection  of  the 
saints,  took  her  departure. 

Giovanni  still  found  no  better  occupation  than  to  look  down 
into  the  garden  beneath  his  window.  From  its  appearance,  he 
judged  it  to  be  one  of  those  botanic  gardens  which  were  of  earlier 
date  in  Padua  than  elsewhere  in  Italy  or  in  the  world.  Or,  not 
improbably,  it  might  once  have  been  the  pleasure-place  of  an  opulent 
family;  for  there  was  the  ruin  of  a  marble  fountain  hi  the  centre, 
sculptured  with  rare  art,  but  so  wofully  shattered  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  trace  the  original  design  from  the  chaos  of  remaining  frag- 
ments. The  water,  however,  continued  to  gush  and  sparkle  into 
the  sunbeams  as  cheerfully  as  ever.  A  little  gurgling  sound  ascended 
to  the  young  man's  window,  and  made  him  feel  as  if  the  fountain 
were  an  immortal  spirit,  that  sung  its  song  unceasingly  and  without 
heeding  the  vicissitudes  around  it,  while  one  .century  imbodied  it  in 
marble  and  another  scattered  the  perishable  garniture  on  the  soil. 
All  about  the  pool  into  which  the  water  subsided  grew  various  plants, 
that  seemed  to  require  a  plentiful  supply  of  moisture  for  the  nourish- 
ment of  gigantic  leaves,  and,  in  some  instances,  flowers  gorgeously 
magnificent.  There  was  one  shrub  hi  particular,  set  in  a  marble 
vase  in  the  midst  of  the  pool,  that  bore  a  profusion  of  purple  blossoms, 
each  of  which  had  the  lustre  and  richness  of  a  gem;  and  the  whole 
together  made  a  show  so  resplendent  that  it  seemed  enough  to 
illuminate  the  garden,  even  had  there  been  no  sunshine.  Every 
portion  of  the  soil  was  peopled  with  plants  and  herbs,  which,  if  less 
beautiful,  still  bore  tokens  of  assiduous  care;  as  if  all  had  their 
individual  virtues,  known  to  the  scientific  mind  that  fostered  them. 
Some  were  placed  in  urns,  rich  with  old  carving,  and  others  hi  com- 
mon garden  pots;  some  crept  serpent-like  along  the  ground  or  climbed 
on  high,  using  whatever  means  of  ascent  was  offered  them.  One  plant 
had  wreathed  itself  round  a  statue  of  Vertumnus,  which  was  thus 
quite  veiled  and  shrouded  in  a  drapery  of  hanging  foliage,  so  happily 
arranged  that  it  might  have  served  a  sculptor  for  a  study. 

While  Giovanni  stood  at  the  window  he  heard  a  rustling  behind  a 
screen  of  leaves,  and  became  aware  that  a  person  was  at  work  in  the 
garden.  His  figure  soon  emerged  into  view,  and  showed  itself  to  be 
that  of  no  common  laborer,  but  a  tall,  emaciated,  sallow,  and  sickly- 


430  AMERICAN  PROSE 


looking  man,  dressed  in  a  scholar's  garb  of  black.  He  was  beyond 
the  middle  term  of  life,  with  gray  hair,  a  thin,  gray  beard,  and  a  face 
singularly  marked  with  intellect  and  cultivation,  but  which  could 
never,  even  in  his  more  youthful  days,  have  expressed  much  warmth 
of  heart. 

Nothing .  could  exceed  the  intentness  with  which  this  scientific 
gardener  examined  every  shrub  which  grew  hi  his  path;  it  seemed  as 
if  he  was  looking  into  their  inmost  nature,  making  observations  in 
regard  to  their  creative  essence,  and  discovering  why  one  leaf  grew 
in  this  shape  and  another  in  that,  and  wherefore  such  and  such  flowers 
differed  among  themselves  in  hue  and  perfume.  Nevertheless,  in 
spite  of  this  deep  intelligence  on  his  part,  there  was  no  approach  to 
intimacy  between  himself  and  these  vegetable  existences.  On  the 
contrary,  he  avoided  their  actual  touch  or  the  direct  inhaling  of  their 
odors  with  a  caution  that  impressed  Giovanni  most  disagreeably; 
for  the  man's  demeanor  was  that  of  one  walking  among  malignant 
influences,  such  as  savage  blasts,  or  deadly  snakes,  or  evil  spirits, 
which,  should  he  allow  them  one  moment  of  license,  would  wreak  upon 
him  some  terrible  fatality.  It  was  strangely  frightful  to  the  young 
man's  imagination  to  see  this  air  of  insecurity  in  a  person  cultivating 
a  garden,  that  most  simple  and  innocent  of  human  toils,  and  which  had 
been  alike  the  joy  and  labor  of  the  unfallen  parents  of  the  race.  Was 
this  garden,  then,  the  Eden  of  the  present  world  ?  And  this  man, 
with  such  a  perception  of  harm  in  what  his  own  hands  caused  to 
grow, — was  he  the  Adam  ? 

The  distrustful  gardener,  while  plucking  away  the  dead  leaves 
or  pruning  the  too  luxuriant  growth  of  the  shrubs,  defended  his  hands 
with  a  pair  of  thick  gloves.  Nor  were  these  his  only  armor.  When, 
in  his  walk  through  the  garden,  he  came  to  the  magnificent  plant 
that  hung  its  purple  gems  beside  the  marble  fountain,  he  placed  a 
kind  of  mask  over  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  as  if  all  this  beauty  did  but 
conceal  a  deadlier  malice;  but,  finding  his  task  still  too  dangerous,  he 
drew  back,  removed  the  mask,  and  called  loudly,  but  in  the  infirm 
voice  of  a  person  affected  with  inward  disease, — 

"Beatrice!    Beatrice!" 

"Here  am  I,  my  father.  What  would  you?"  cried  a  rich  and 
youthful  voice  from  the  window  of  the  opposite  house — a  voice  as 
rich  as  a  tropical  sunset,  and  which  made  Giovanni,  though  he  knew 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  431 

not  why,  think  of  deep  hues  of  purple  or  crimson  and  of  perfumes 
heavily  delectable.  "Are  you  in  the  garden  ?" 

"Yes,  Beatrice,"  answered  the  gardener;  "and  I  need  your  help." 

Soon  there  emerged  from  under  a  sculptured  portal  the  figure  of  a 
young  girl,  arrayed  with  as  much  richness  of  taste  as  the  most  splendid 
of  the  flowers,  beautiful  as  the  day,  and  with  a  bloom  so  deep  and 
vivid  that  one  shade  more  would  have  been  too  much.  She  looked 
redundant  with  life,  health,  and  energy;  all  of  which  attributes  were 
bound  down  and  compressed,  as  it  were,  and  girdled  tensely,  in  their 
luxuriance,  by  her  virgin  zone.  Yet  Giovanni's  fancy  must  have 
grown  morbid  while  he  looked  down  into  the  garden;  for  the  impres- 
sion which  the  fair  stranger  made  upon  him  was  as  if  here  were 
another  flower,  the  human  sister  of  those  vegetable  ones,  as  beautiful 
as  they,  more  beautiful  than  the  richest  of  them,  but  still  to  be 
touched  only  with  a  glove,  nor  to  be  approached  without  a  mask.  As 
Beatrice  came  down  the  garden  path,  it  was  observable  that  she 
handled  and  inhaled  the  odor  of  several  of  the  plants  which  her  father 
had  most  sedulously  avoided. 

"Here,  Beatrice,"  said  the  latter,  "see  how  many  needful  offices 
require  to  be  done  to  our  chief  treasure.  Yet,  shattered  as  I  am,  my 
life  might  pay  the  penalty  of  approaching  it  so  closely  as  circumstances 
demand.  Henceforth,  I  fear,  this  plant  must  be  consigned  to  your 
sole  charge." 

"And  gladly  will  I  undertake  it,"  cried  again  the  rich  tones  of  the 
young  lady,  as  she  bent  towards  the  magnificent  plant  and  opened 
her  arms  as  if  to  embrace  it.  "Yes,  my  sister,  my  splendor,  it  shall 
be  Beatrice's  task  to  nurse  and  serve  thee;  and  thou  shalt  reward 
her  with  thy  kisses  and  perfumed  breath,  which  to  her  is  as  the 
breath  of  life!" 

Then,  with  all  the  tenderness  in  her  manner  that  was  so  strikingly 
expressed  in  her  words,  she  busied  herself  with  such  attentions  as  the 
plant  seemed  to  require;  and  Giovanni,  at  his  lofty  window,  rubbed 
his  eyes,  and  almost  doubted  whether  it  were  a  girl  tending  her  favor- 
ite flower,  or  one  sister  performing  the  duties  of  affection  to  another. 
The  scene  soon  terminated.  Whether  Dr.  Rappaccini  had  finished 
his  labors  in  the  garden,  or  that  his  watchful  eye  had  caught  the 
stranger's  face,  he  now  took  his  daughter's  arm  and  retired.  Night 
was  already  closing  in;  oppressive  exhalations  seemed  to  proceed  from 


432  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  plants  and  steal  upward  past  the  open  window;  and  Giovanni, 
closing  the  lattice,  went  to  his  couch  and  dreamed  of  a  rich  flower 
and  beautiful  girl.  Flower  and  maiden  were  different,  and  yet  the 
same,  and  fraught  with  some  strange  peril  in  either  shape. 

But  there  is  an  influence  in  the  light  of  morning  that  tends  to 
rectify  whatever  errors  of  fancy,  or  even  of  judgment,  we  may  have 
incurred  during  the  sun's  decline,  or  among  the  shadows  of  the  night, 
or  hi  the  less  wholesome  glow  of  moonshine.  Giovanni's  first  move- 
ment, on  starting  from  sleep,  was  to  throw  open  the  window  and  gaze 
down  into  the  garden  which  his  dreams  had  made  so  fertile  of  mys- 
teries. He  was  surprised,  and  a  little  ashamed,  to  find  how  real  and 
matter-of-fact  an  affair  it  proved  to  be,  hi  the  first  rays  of  the  sun 
which  gilded  the  dewdrops  that  hung  upon  leaf  and  blossom,  and, 
while  giving  a  brighter  beauty  to  each  rare  flower,  brought  every- 
thing within  the  limits  of  ordinary  experience.  The  young  man 
rejoiced  that,  in  the  heart  of  the  barren  city,  he  had  the  privilege 
of  overlooking  this  spot  of  lovely  and  luxuriant  vegetation.  It  would 
serve,  he  said  to  himself,  as  a  symbolic  language  to  keep  him  hi  com- 
munion with  Nature.  Neither  the  sickly  and  thoughtworn  Dr. 
Giacomo  Rappaccini,  it  is  true,  nor  his  brilliant  daughter,  were  now 
visible;  so  that  Giovanni  could  not  determine  how  much  of  the  singu- 
larity which  he  attributed  to  both  was  due  to  their  own  qualities 
and  how  much  to  his  wonder- working  fancy;  but  he  was  inclined  to 
take  a  most  rational  view  of  the  whole  matter. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  he  paid  his  respects  to  Signer  Pietro 
Baglioni,  professor  of  medicine  in  the  university,  a  physician  of  emi- 
nent repute,  to  whom  Giovanni  had  brought  a  letter  of  introduction. 
The  professor  was  an  elderly  personage,  apparently  of  genial  nature 
and  habits  that  might  almost  be  called  jovial.  He  kept  the  young 
man  to  dinner,  and  made  himself  very  agreeable  by  the  freedom  and 
liveliness  of  his  conversation,  especially  when  warmed  by  a  flask  or  two 
of  Tuscan  wine.  Giovanni,  conceiving  that  men  of  science,  inhabit- 
ants of  the  same  city,  must  needs  be  on  familiar  terms  with  one 
another,  took  an  opportunity  to  mention  the  name  of  Dr.  Rappaccini. 
But  the  professor  did  not  respond  with  so  much  cordiality  as  he  had 
anticipated. 

"Ill  would  it  become  a  teacher  of  the  divine  art  of  medicine," 
said  Professor  Pietro  Baglioni,  hi  answer  to  a  question  of  Giovanni, 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  433 

"to  withhold  due  and  well-considered  praise  of  a  physician  so  emi- 
nently skilled  as  Rappaccini;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  should  answer 
it  but  scantily  to  my  conscience  were  I  to  permit  a  worthy  youth  like 
yourself,  Signor  Giovanni,  the  son  of  an  ancient  friend,  to  imbibe 
erroneous  ideas  respecting  a  man  who  might  hereafter  chance  to  hold 
your  life  and  death  hi  his  hands.  The  truth  is,  our  worshipful  Dr. 
Rappaccini  has  as  much  science  as  any  member  of  the  faculty — 
with  perhaps  one  single  exception — in  Padua,  or  all  Italy;  but 
there  are  certain  grave  objections  to  his  professional  character." 

"And  what  are  they?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"Has  my  friend  Giovanni  any  disease  of  body  or  heart,  that  he  is 
so  inquisitive  about  physicians?"  said  the  professor,  with  a  smile. 
"But  as  for  Rappaccini,  it  is  said  of  him — and  I,  who  know  the  man 
well,  can  answer  for  its  truth — that  he  cares  infinitely  more  for  science 
than  for  mankind.  His  patients  are  interesting  to  him  only  as 
subjects  for  some  new  experiment.  He  would  sacrifice  human  life, 
his  own  among  the  rest,  or  whatever  else  was  dearest  to  him,  for  the 
sake  of  adding  so  much  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed  to  the  great  heap  of 
his  accumulated  knowledge." 

"Methinks  he  is  an  awful  man  indeed,"  remarked  Guasconti, 
mentally  recalling  the  cold  and  purely  intellectual  aspect  of  Rappac- 
cini. "And  yet,  worshipful  professor,  is  it  not  a  noble  spirit  ?  Are 
there  many  men  capable  of  so  spiritual  a  love  of  science  ?  " 

"God  forbid,"  answered  the  professor,  somewhat  testily;  "at 
least,  unless  they  take  sounder  views  of  the  healing  art  than  those 
adopted  by  Rappaccini.  It  is  his  theory  that  all  medicinal  virtues  are 
comprised  within  those  substances  which  we  term  vegetable  poisons. 
These  he  cultivates  with  his  own  hands,  and  is  said  even  to  have  pro- 
duced new  varieties  of  poison,  more  horribly  deleterious  than  Nature, 
without  the  assistance  of  this  learned  person,  would  ever  have  plagued 
the  world  withal.  That  the  signor  doctor  does  less  mischief  than 
might  be  expected  with  such  dangerous  substances,  is  undeniable. 
Now  and  then,  it  must  be  owned,  he  has  effected,  or  seemed  to  effect, 
a  marvellous  cure;  but,  to  tell  you  my  private  mind,  Signor  Giovanni, 
he  should  receive  little  credit  for  such  instances  of  success, — they 
being  probably  the  work  of  chance, — but  should  be  held  strictly 
accountable  for  his  failures,  which  may  justly  be  considered  his  own 
work." 


434  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  youth-might  have  taken  Baglioni's  opinions  with  many  grains 
of  allowance  had  he  known  that  there  was  a  professional  warfare  of 
long  continuance  between  him  and  Dr.  Rappaccini,  in  which  the  latter 
was  generally  thought  to  have  gamed  the  advantage.  If  the  reader 
be  inclined  to  judge  for  himself,  we  refer  him  to  certain  black-letter 
tracts  on  both  sides,  preserved  in  the  medical  department  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Padua. 

"I  know  not,  most  learned  professor,"  returned  Giovanni,  after 
musing  on  what  had  been  said  of  Rappaccini's  exclusive  zeal  for 
science, — "I  know  not  how  dearly  this  physician  may  love  his  art;  but 
surely  there  is  one  object  more  dear  to  him.  He  has  a  daughter." 

"Aha!"  cried  the  professor,  with  a  laugh.  "So  now  our  friend 
Giovanni's  secret  is  out.  You  have  heard  of  this  daughter,  whom 
all  the  young  men  in  Padua  are  wild  about,  though  not  half  a  dozen 
have  ever  had  the  good  hap  to  see  her  face.  I  know  little  of  the 
Signora  Beatrice  save  that  Rappaccini  is  said  to  have  instructed  her 
deeply  in  his  science,  and  that,  young  and  beautiful  as  fame  reports 
her,  she  is  already  qualified  to  fill  a  professor's  chair.  Perchance 
her  father  destines  her  for  mine!  Other  absurd  rumors  there  be,  not 
worth  talking  about  or  listening  to.  So  now,  Signer  Giovanni,  drink 
off  your  glass  of  lacryma." 

Guasconti  returned  to  his  lodgings  somewhat  heated  with  the 
wine  he  had  quaffed,  and  which  caused  his  brain  to  swim  with  strange 
fantasies  hi  reference  to  Dr.  Rappaccini  and  the  beautiful  Beatrice. 
On  his  way,  happening  to  pass  by  a  florist's,  he  bought  a  fresh  bouquet 
of  flowers. 

Ascending  to  his  chamber,  he  seated  himself  near  the  window, 
but  within  the  shadow  thrown  by  the  depth  of  the  wall,  so  that  he 
could  look  down  into  the  garden  with  little  risk  of  being  discovered. 
All  beneath  his  eye  was  a  solitude.  The  strange  plants  were  basking 
hi  the  sunshine,  and  now  and  then  nodding  gently  to  one  another, 
as  if  in  acknowledgment  of  sympathy  and  kindred.  In  the  midst,  by 
the  shattered  fountain,  grew  the  magnificent  shrub,  with  its  purple 
gems  clustering  all  over  it;  they  glowed  in  the  air,  and  gleamed  back 
again  out  of  the  depths  of  the  pool,  which  thus  seemed  to  overflow  with 
colored  radiance  from  the  rich  reflection  that  was  steeped  in  it.  At 
first,  as  we  have  said,  the  garden  was  a  solitude.  Soon,  however, — 
as  Giovanni  had  half  hoped,  half  feared,  would  be  the  case, — a  figure 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  435 

appeared  beneath  the  antique  sculptured  portal,  and  came  down  be- 
tween the  rows  of  plants,  inhaling  their  various  perfumes  as  if  she  were 
one  of  those  beings  of  old  classic  fable  that  lived  upon  sweet  odors.  On 
again  beholding  Beatrice,  the  young  man  was  even  startled  to  perceive 
how  much  her  beauty  exceeded  his  recollection  of  it;  so  brilliant,  so 
vivid,  was  its  character,  that  she  glowed  amid  the  sunlight,  and,  as 
Giovanni  whispered  to  himself,  positively  illuminated  the  more 
shadowy  intervals  of  the  garden  path.  Her  face  being  now  more 
revealed  than  on  the  former  occasion,  he  was  struck  by  its  expression 
of  simplicity  and  sweetness — qualities  that  had  not  entered  into  his 
idea  of  her  character,  and  which  made  him  ask  anew  what  manner 
of  mortal  she  might  be.  Nor  did  he  fail  again  to  observe,  or  imagine, 
an  analogy  between  the  beautiful  girl  and  the  gorgeous  shrub  that 
hung  its  gemlike  flowers  over  the  fountain — a  resemblance  which 
Beatrice  seemed  to  have  indulged  a  fantastic  humor  in  heigh tening, 
both  by  the  arrangement  of  her  dress  and  the  selection  of  its  hues. 

Approaching  the  shrub,  she  threw  open  her  arms,  as  with  a 
passionate  ardor,  and  drew  its  branches  into  an  intimate  embrace — 
so  intimate  that  her  features  were  hidden  in  its  leafy  bosom  and  her 
glistening  ringlets  all  intermingled  with  the  flowers. 

"Give  me  thy  breath,  my  sister,"  exclaimed  Beatrice;  "for  I  am 
faint  with  common  air.  And  give  me  this  flower  of  thine,  which  I 
separate  with  gentlest  fingers  from  the  stem  and  place  it  close  beside 
my  heart." 

With  these  words  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Rappaccini  plucked 
one  of  the  richest  blossoms  of  the  shrub,  and  was  about  to  fasten  it  in 
her  bosom.  But  now,  unless  Giovanni's  draughts  of  wine  had 
bewildered  his  senses,  a  singular  incident  occurred.  A  small  orange- 
colored  reptile,  of  the  lizard  or  chameleon  species,  chanced  to  be 
creeping  along  the  path',  just  at  the  feet  of  Beatrice.  It  appeared  to 
Giovanni, — but,  at  the  distance  from  which  he  gazed,  he  could  scarcely 
have  seen  any  thing  so  minute, — it  appeared  to  him,  however,  that  a 
drop  or  two  of  moisture  from  the  broken  stem  of  the  flower  descended 
upon  the  lizard's  head.  For  an  instant  the  reptile  contorted  itself 
violently,  and  then  lay  motionless  in  the  sunshine.  Beatrice  observed 
this  remarkable  phenomenon,  and  crossed  herself,  sadly,  but  without 
surprise;  nor  did  she  therefore  hesitate  to  arrange  the  fatal  flower 
in  her  bosom.  There  it  blushed,  and  almost  glimmered  with  the 


436  AMERICAN  PROSE 


dazzling  effect  of  a  precious  stone,  adding  to  her  dress  and  aspect  the 
one  appropriate  charm  which  nothing  else  hi  the  world  could  have 
supplied.  But  Giovanni,  out  of  the  shadow  of  his  window,  bent 
forward  and  shrank  back,  and  murmured  and  trembled. 

"Am  I  awake  ?  Have  I  my  senses  ?  "  said  he  to  himself.  "What 
is  this  being?  Beautiful  shall  I  call  her,  or  inexpressibly  terrible?" 

Beatrice  now  strayed  carelessly  through  the  garden,  approaching 
closer  beneath  Giovanni's  window,  so  that  he  was  compelled  to  thrust 
his  head  quite  out  of  its  concealment  in  order  to  gratify  the  intense 
and  painful  curiosity  which  she  excited.  At  this  moment  there  came 
a  beautiful  insect  over  the  garden  wall:  it  had,  perhaps,  wandered 
through  the  city,  and  found  no  flowers  or  verdure  among  those 
antique  haunts  of  men  until  the  heavy  perfumes  of  Dr.  Rappaccini's 
shrubs  had  lured  it  from  afar.  Without  alighting  on  the  flowers, 
this  winged  brightness  seemed  to  be  attracted  by  Beatrice,  and 
lingered  in  the  air  and  fluttered  about  her  head.  Now,  here  it  could 
not  be  but  that  Giovanni  Guasconti's  eyes  deceived  him.  Be  that  as 
it  might,  he  fancied  that,  while  Beatrice  was  gazing  at  the  insect  with 
childish  delight,  it  grew  faint  and  fell  at  her  feet;  its  bright  wings 
shivered;  it  was  dead — from  no  cause  that  he  could  discern,  unless  it 
were  the  atmosphere  of  her  breath.  Again  Beatrice  crdssed  herself 
and  sighed  heavily  as  she  bent  over  the  dead  insect. 

An  impulsive  movement  of  Giovanni  drew  her  eyes  to  the  window. 
There  she  beheld  the  beautiful  head  of  the  young  man — rather  a 
Grecian  than  an  Italian  head,  with  fair,  regular  features,  and  a  glisten- 
ing of  gold  among  his  ringlets — gazing  down  upon  her  like  a  being  that 
hovered  in  mid-air.  Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  Giovanni  threw 
down  the  bouquet  which  he  had  hitherto  held  in  his  hand. 

"Signora,"  said  he,  "there  are  pure  and  healthful  flowers.  Wear 
them  for  the  sake  of  Giovanni  Guasconti." 

"Thanks,  signor,"  replied  Beatrice,  with  her  rich  voice,  that 
came  forth  as  it  were  like  a  gush  of  music,  and  with  a  mirthful  expres- 
sion half  childish  and  half  womanlike.  "I  accept  your  gift,  and 
would  fain  recompense  it  with  this  precious  purple  flower;  but,  if  I 
toss  it  into  the  air,  it  will  not  reach  you.  So  Signor  Guasconti  must 
even  content  himself  with  my  thanks." 

She  lifted  the  bouquet  from  the  ground,  and  then,  as  if  inwardly 
ashamed  at  having  stepped  aside  from  her  maidenly  reserve  to  respond 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  437 

to  a  stranger's  greeting,  passed  swiftly  homeward  through  the  garden. 
But,  few  as  the  moments  were,  it  seemed  to  Giovanni,  when  she  was  on 
the  point  of  vanishing  beneath  the  sculptured  portal,  that  his  beauti- 
ful bouquet  was  already  beginning  to  wither  in  her  grasp.  It  was  an 
idle  thought;  there  could  be  no  possibility  of  distinguishing  a  faded 
flower  from  a  fresh  one  at  so  great  a  distance. 

For  many  days  after  this  incident  the  young  man  avoided  the 
window  that  looked  into  Dr.  Rappaccini's  garden,  as  if  something 
ugly  and  monstrous  would  have  blasted  his  eyesight  had  he  been 
betrayed  into  a  glance.  He  felt  conscious  of  having  put  himself,  to 
a  certain  extent,  within  the  influence  of  an  unintelligible  power  by  the 
communication  which  he  had  opened  with  Beatrice.  The  wisest 
course  would  have  been,  if  his  heart  were  in  any  real  danger,  to  quit  his 
lodgings  and  Padua  itself  at  once;  the  next  wiser,  to  have  accus- 
tomed himself,  as  far  as  possible,  to  the  familiar  and  daylight  view 
of  Beatrice — thus  bringing  her  rigidly  and  systematically  within  the 
limits  of  ordinary  experience.  Least  of  all,  while  avoiding  her  sight, 
ought  Giovanni  to  have  remained  so  near  this  extraordinary  being 
that  the  proximity  and  possibility  even  of  intercourse  should  give  a 
kind  of  substance  and  reality  to  the  wild  vagaries  which  his  imagina- 
tion ran  riot  continually  in  producing.  Guasconti  had  not  a  deep 
heart — or,  at  all  events,  its  depths  were  not  sounded  now;  but  he 
had  a  quick  fancy,  and  an  ardent  southern  temperament,  which  rose 
every  instant  to  a  higher  fever  pitch.  Whether  or  no  Beatrice  pos- 
sessed those  terrible  attributes,  that  fatal  breath,  the  affinity  with 
those  so  beautiful  and  deadly  flowers  which  were  indicated  by  what 
Giovanni  had  witnessed,  she  had  at  least  instilled  a  fierce  and  subtle 
poison  into  his  system.  It  was  not  love,  although  her  rich  beauty 
was  a  madness  to  him;  nor  horror,  even  while  he  fancied  her  spirit 
to  be  imbued  with  the  same  baneful  essence  that  seemed  to  pervade 
her  physical  frame;  but  a  wild  offspring  of  both  love  and  horror  that 
had  each  parent  in  it,  and  burned  like  one  and  shivered  like  the  other. 
Giovanni  knew  not  what  to  dread;  still  less  did  he  know  what  to 
hope;  yet  hope  and  dread  kept  a  continual  warfare  in  his  breast, 
alternately  vanquishing  one  another  and  starting  up  afresh  to  renew 
the  contest.  Blessed  are  all  simple  emotions,  be  they  dark  or  bright! 
It  is  the  lurid  intermixture  of  the  two  that  produces  the  illuminating 
blaze  of  the  infernal  regions. 


438  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Sometimes  he  endeavored  to  assuage  the  fever  of  his  spirit  by  a 
rapid  walk  through  the  streets  of  Padua  or  beyond  its  gates;  his 
footsteps  kept  time  with  the  throbbings  of  his  brain,  so  that  the  walk 
was  apt  to  accelerate  itself  to  a  race.  One  day  he  found  himself 
arrested;  his  arm  was  seized  by  a  portly  personage,  who  had  turned 
back  on  recognizing  the  young  man  and  expended  much  breath  in 
overtaking  him. 

"Signer  Giovanni!  Stay,  my  young  friend!"  cried  he.  "Have 
you  forgotten  me  ?  That  might  well  be  the  case  if  I  were  as  much 
altered  as  yourself." 

It  was  Baglioni,  whom  Giovanni  had  avoided  ever  since  their 
first  meeting,  from  a  doubt  that  the  professor's  sagacity  would  look 
too  deeply  into  his  secrets.  Endeavoring  to  recover  himself,  he 
stared  forth  wildly  from  his  inner  world  into  the  outer  one  and  spoke 
like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

"Yes;  I  am  Giovanni  Guasconti.  You  are  Professor  Pietro 
Baglioni.  Now  let  me  pass!" 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,  Signor  Giovanni  Guasconti,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor, smiling,  but  at  the  same  time  scrutinizing  the  youth  with  an 
earnest  glance.  "  What !  did  I  grow  up  side  by  side  with  your  father  ? 
and  shall  his  son  pass  me  like  a  stranger  in  these  old  streets  of  Padua  ? 
Stand  still,  Signor  Giovanni;  for  we  must  have  a  word  or  two  before 
we  part." 

"Speedily,  then,  most  worshipful  professor,  speedily,"  said 
Giovanni,  with  feverish  impatience.  "Does  not  your  worship  see  that 
I  am  hi  haste  ?  " 

Now,  while  he  was  speaking,  there  came  a  man  hi  black  along  the 
street,  stooping  and  moving  feebly  like  a  person  in  inferior  health. 
His  face  was  all  overspread  with  a  most  sickly  and  sallow  hue, 
but  yet  so  pervaded  with  an  expression  of  piercing  and  active 
intellect  that  an  observer  might  easily  have  overlooked  the  merely 
physical  attributes  and  have  seen  only  this  wonderful  energy.  As 
he  passed,  this  person  exchanged  a  cold  and  distant  salutation 
with  Baglioni,  but  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Giovanni  with  an  intent- 
ness  that  seemed  to  bring  out  whatever  was  within  him  worthy  of 
notice.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a  peculiar  quietness  in  the  look,  as 
if  taking  merely  a  speculative,  not  a  human,  interest  in  the  young 

man. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  439 

"  It  is  Dr.  Rappaccini ! "  whispered  the  professor  when  the  stranger 
had  passed.  "Has  he  ever  seen  your  face  before  ?  " 

"Not  that  I  know,"  answered  Giovanni,  starting  at  the  name. 

"He  has  seen  you!  he  must  have  seen  you! "  said  Baglioni,  hastily. 
"  For  some  purpose  or  other,  this  man  of  science  is  making  a  study  of 
you.  I  know  that  look  of  his !  It  is  the  same  that  coldly  illuminates 
his  face  as  he  bends  over  a  bird,  a  mouse,  or  a  butterfly;  which,  in 
pursuance  of  some  experiment,  he  has  killed  by  the  perfume  of  a 
flower;  a  look  as  deep  as  Nature  itself,  but  without  Nature's  warmth 
of  love.  Signer  Giovanni,  I  will  stake  my  life  upon  it,  you  are  the 
subject  of  one  of  Rappaccini's  experiments!" 

"Will  you  make  a  fool  of  me?"  cried  Giovanni,  passionately. 
"That,  signor  professor,  were  an  untoward  experiment." 

"Patience!  patience!"  replied  the  imperturbable  professor. 
"I  tell  thee,  my  poor  Giovanni,  that  Rappaccini  has  a  scientific 
interest  in  thee.  Thou  hast  fallen-  into  fearful  hands!  And  the 
Signora  Beatrice,  what  part  does  she  act  in  this  mystery?" 

But  Guasconti,  finding  Baglioni's  pertinacity  intolerable,  here 
broke  away,  and  was  gone  before  the  professor  could  again  seize  his 
arm.  He  looked  after  the  young  man  intently  and  shook  his  head. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  said  Baglioni  to  himself .  "  The  youth  is  the 
son  of  my  old  friend,  and  shall  not  come  to  any  harm  from  which  the 
arcana  of  medical  science  can  preserve  him.  Besides,  it  is  too  insuffer- 
able an  impertinence  in  Rappaccini  thus  to  snatch  the  lad  out  of  my 
own  hands,  as  I  may  say,  and  make  use  of  him  for  his  infernal  experi- 
ments. This  daughter  of  his!  It  shall  be  looked  to.  Perchance, 
most  learned  Rappaccini,  I  may  foil  you  where  you  little  dream 
of  it." 

Meanwhile  Giovanni  had  pursued  a  circuitous  route,  and  at 
length  found  himself  at  the  door  of  his  lodgings.  As  he  crossed  the 
threshold  he  was  met  by  old  Lisabetta,  who  smirked  and  smiled,  and 
was  evidently  desirous  to  attract  his  attention ;  vainly,  however,  as  the 
ebullition  of  his  feelings  had  momentarily  subsided  into  a  cold  and 
dull  vacuity.  He  turned  his  eyes  full  upon  the  withered  face  that  was 
puckering  itself  into  a  smile,  but  seemed  to  behold  it  not.  The  old 
dame,  therefore,  laid  her  grasp  upon  his  cloak. 

"Signor!  signor!"  whispered  she,  still  with  a  smile  over  the  whole 
breadth  of  her  visage,  so  that  it  looked  not  unlike  a  grotesque  carving 


440  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  wood,  darkened  by  centuries.  "Listen,  signer!  There  is  a 
private  entrance  into  the  garden!" 

"What  do  you  say  ?  "  exclaimed  Giovanni,  turning  quickly  about, 
as  if  an  inanimate  thing  should  start  into  feverish  life.  "A  private 
entrance  into  Dr.  Rappaccini's  garden?" 

"Hush!  hush!  not  so  loud!"  whispered  Lisabetta,  putting  her 
hand  over  his  mouth.  "Yes;  into  the  worshipful  doctor's  garden, 
where  you  may  see  all  his  fine  shrubbery.  Many  a  young  man  in 
Padua  would  give  gold  to  be  admitted  among  those  flowers." 

Giovanni  put  a  piece  of  gold  into  her  hand. 

"Show  me  the  way,"  said  he. 

A  surmise,  probably  excited  by  his  conversation  with  Baglioni, 
crossed  his  mind,  that  this  interposition  of  old  Lisabetta  might  per- 
chance be  connected  with  the  intrigue,  whatever  were  its  nature,  in 
which  the  professor  seemed  to  suppose  that  Dr.  Rappaccini  was 
involving  him.  But  such  a  suspicion,  though  it  disturbed  Giovanni, 
was  inadequate  to  restrain  him.  The  instant  that  he  was  aware  of  the 
possibility  of  approaching  Beatrice,  it  seemed  an  absolute  necessity 
of  his  existence  to  do  so.  It  mattered  not  whether  she  were  angel 
or  demon;  he  was  irrevocably  within  her  sphere,  and  must  obey  the 
law  that  whirled  him  onward,  in  ever-lessening  circles,  towards  a 
result  which  he  did  not  attempt  to  foreshadow;  and  yet,  strange 
to  say,  there  came  across  him  a  sudden  doubt  whether  this  intense 
interest  on  his  part  were  not  delusory;  whether  it  were  really  of 
so  deep  and  positive  a  nature  as  to  justify  him  in  now  thrusting 
himself  into  an  incalculable  position;  whether  it  were  not  merely 
the  fantasy  of  a  young  man's  brain,  only  slightly  or  not  at  all  con- 
nected with  his  heart. 

He  paused,  hesitated,  turned  half  about,  but  again  went  on. 
His  withered  guide  led  him  along  several  obscure  passages,  and  finally 
undid  a  door,  through  which,  as  it  was  opened,  there  came  the  sight 
and  sound  of  rustling  leaves,  with  the  broken  sunshine  glimmering 
among  them.  Giovanni  stepped  forth,  and,  forcing  himself  through 
the  entanglement  of  a  shrub  that  wreathed  its  tendrils  over  the 
hidden  entrance,  stood  beneath  his  own  window  in  the  open  area  of 
Dr.  Rappaccini's  garden. 

How  often  is  it  the  case  that,  when  impossibilities  have  come  to 
pass  and  dreams  have  condensed  their  misty  substance  into  tangible 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  441 

realities,  we  find  ourselves  calm,  and  even  coldly  self-possessed, 
amid  circumstances  which  it  would  have  been  a  delirium  of  joy  or 
agony  to  anticipate!  Fate  delights  to  thwart  us  thus.  Passion  will 
choose  his  own  time  to  rush  upon  the  scene,  and  lingers  sluggishly 
behind  when  an  appropriate  adjustment  of  events  would  seem  to 
summon  his  appearance.  So  was  it  now  with  Giovanni.  Day  after 
day  his  pulses  had  throbbed  with  feverish  blood  at  the  improbable 
idea  of  an  interview  with  Beatrice,  and  of  standing  with  her,  face  to 
face,  in  this  very  garden,  basking  in  the  Oriental  sunshine  of  her 
beauty,  and  snatching  from  her  full  gaze  the  mystery  which  he 
deemed  the  riddle  of  his  own  existence.  But  now  there  was  a 
singular  and  untimely  equanimity  within  his  breast.  He  threw  a 
glance  around  the  garden  to  discover  if  Beatrice  or  her  father  were 
present,  and,  perceiving  that  he  was  alone,  began  a  critical  obser- 
vation of  the  plants. 

The  aspect  of  one  and  all  of  them  dissatisfied  him;  their  gorgeous- 
ness  seemed  fierce,  passionate,  and  even  unnatural.  There  was 
hardly  an  individual  shrub  which  a  wanderer,  straying  by  himself 
through  a  forest,  would  not  have  been  startled  to  find  growing  wild, 
as  if  an  unearthly  face  had  glared  at  him  out  of  the  thicket.  Several 
also  would  have  shocked  a  delicate  instinct  by  an  appearance  of 
artificialness  indicating  that  there  had  been  such  commixture,  and, 
as  it  were,  adultery  of  various  vegetable  species,  that  the  production 
was  no  longer  of  God's  making,  but  the  monstrous  offspring  of  man's 
depraved  fancy,  glowing  with  only  an  evil  mockery  of  beauty.  They 
were  probably  the  result  of  experiment,  which  in  one  or  two  cases 
had  succeeded  in  mingling  plants  individually  lovely  into  a  compound 
possessing  the  questionable  and  ominous  character  that  distinguished 
the  whole  growth  of  the  garden.  In  fine,  Giovanni  recognized  but 
two  or  three  plants  in  the  collection,  and  those  of  a  kind  that  he  well 
knew  to  be  poisonous.  While  busy  with  these  contemplations  he 
heard  the  rustling  of  a  silken  garment,  and,  turning,  beheld  Beatrice 
emerging  from  beneath  the  sculptured  portal. 

Giovanni  had  not  considered  with  himself  what  should  be  his 
deportment;  whether  he  should  apologize  for  his  intrusion  into  the 
garden,  or  assume  that  he  was  there  with  the  privity  at  least,  if  not 
by  the  desire,  of  Dr.  Rappaccini  or  his  daughter;  but  Beatrice's 
manner  placed  him  at  his  ease,  though  leaving  him  still  in  doubt  by 


442  AMERICAN  PROSE 


what  agency  he  had  gained  admittance.  She  came  lightly  along  the 
path  and  met  him  near  the  broken  fountain.  There  was  surprise 
in  her  face,  but  brightened  by  a  simple  and  kind  expression  of 
pleasure. 

"You  are  a  connoisseur  in  flowers,  signer,"  said  Beatrice,  with  a 
smile,  alluding  to  the  bouquet  which  he  had  flung  her  from  the 
window.  "It  is  no  marvel,  therefore,  if  the  sight  of  my  father's 
rare  collection  has  tempted  you  to  take  a  nearer  view.  If  he  were 
here,  he  could  tell  you  many  strange  and  interesting  facts  as  to  the 
nature  and  habits  of  these  shrubs;  for  he  has  spent  a  lifetime  in  such 
studies,  and  this  garden  is  his  world." 

"And  yourself,  lady,"  observed  Giovanni,  "if  fame  says  true, — 
you  likewise  are  deeply  skilled  in  the  virtues  indicated  by  these  rich 
blossoms  and  these  spicy  perfumes.  Would  you  deign  to  be  my 
instructress,  I  should  prove  an  apter  scholar  than  if  taught  by  Signer 
Rappaccini  himself." 

"Are  there  such  idle  rumors  ?  "  asked  Beatrice,  with  the  music  of  a 
pleasant  laugh.  "Do  people  say  that  I  am  skilled  in  my  father's 
science  of  plants  ?  What  a  jest  is  there!  No;  though  I  have  grown 
up  among  these  flowers,  I  know  no  more  of  them  than  their  hues  and 
perfume;  and  sometimes  methinks  I  would  fain  rid  myself  of  even 
that  small  knowledge.  There  are  many  flowers  here,  and  those  not 
the  least  brilliant,  that  shock  and  offend  me  when  they  meet  my 
eye.  But,  pray,  signer,  do  not  believe  these  stories  about  my  science. 
Believe  nothing  of  me  save  what  you  see  with  your  own  eyes." 

"And  must  I  believe  all  that  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes?" 
asked  Giovanni,  pointedly,  while  the  recollection  of  former  scenes 
made  him  shrink.  "No,  signora;  you  demand  too  little  of  me.  Bid 
me  believe  nothing  save  what  comes  from  your  own  lips." 

It  would  appear  that  Beatrice  understood  him.  There  came  a 
deep  flush  to  her  cheek;  but  she  looked  full  into  Giovanni's  eyes, 
and  responded  to  his  gaze  of  uneasy  suspicion  with  a  queenlike 
haughtiness. 

"I  do  so  bid  you,  signer,"  she  replied.  "Forget  whatever  you 
may  have  fancied  in  regard  to  me.  If  true  to  the  outward  senses, 
still  it  may  be  false  in  its  essence;  but  the  words  of  Beatrice  Rap- 
paccini's  lips  are  true  from  the  depths  of  the  heart  outward.  Those 
you  may  believe." 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  443 

A  fervor  glowed  in  her  whole  aspect  and  beamed  upon  Giovanni's 
consciousness  like  the  light  of  truth  itself;  but  while  she  spoke  there 
was  a  fragrance  in  the  atmosphere  around  her,  rich  and  delightful, 
though  evanescent,  yet  which  the  young  man,  from  an  indefinable 
reluctance,  scarcely  dared  to  draw  into  his  lungs.  It  might  be  the 
odor  of  the  flowers.  Could  it  be  Beatrice's  breath  which  thus 
embalmed  her  words  with  a  strange  richness,  as  if  by  steeping  them 
in  her  heart  ?  A  faintness  passed  like  a  shadow  over  Giovanni  and 
flitted  away;  he  seemed  to  gaze  through  the  beautiful  girl's  eyes 
into  her  transparent  soul,  and  felt  no  more  doubt  or  fear. 

The  tinge  of  passion  that  had  colored  Beatrice's  manner  vanished; 
she  became  gay,  and  appeared  to  derive  a  pure  delight  from  her  com- 
munion with  the  youth  not  unlike  what  the  maiden  of  a  lonely  island 
might  have  felt  conversing  with  a  voyager  from  the  civilized  world. 
Evidently  her  experience  of  life  had  been  confined  within  the  limits 
of  that  garden.  She  talked  now  about  matters  as  simple  as  the 
daylight  or  summer  clouds,  and  now  asked  questions  in  reference  to 
the  city,  or  Giovanni's  distant  home,  his  friends,  his  mother,  and  his 
sisters — questions  indicating  such  seclusion,  and  such  lack  of  famili- 
arity with  modes  and  forms,  that  Giovanni  responded  as  if  to  an 
infant.  Her  spirit  gushed  out  before  him  like  a  fresh  rill  that  was 
just  catching  its  first  glimpse  of  the  sunlight  and  wondering  at  the 
reflections  of  earth  and  sky  which  were  flung  into  its  bosom.  There 
came  thoughts,  too,  from  a  deep  source,  and  fantasies  of  a  gemlike 
brilliancy,  as  if  diamonds  and  rubies  sparkled  upward  among  the 
bubbles  of  the  fountain.  Ever  and  anon  there  gleamed  across  the 
young  man's  mind  a  sense  of  wonder  that  he  should  be  walking  side 
by  side  with  the  being  who  had  so  wrought  upon  his  imagination, 
whom  he  had  idealized  in  such  hues  of  terror,  in  whom  he  had  posi- 
tively witnessed  such  manifestations  of  dreadful  attributes — that  he 
should  be  conversing  with  Beatrice  like  a  brother,  and  should  find 
her  so  human  and  so  maidenlike.  But  such  reflections  were  only 
momentary;  the  effect  of  her  character  was  too  real  not  to  make  itself 
familiar  at  once. 

In  this  free  intercourse  they  had  strayed  through  the  garden, 
and  now,  after  many  turns  among  its  avenues,  were  come  to  the 
shattered  fountain,  beside  which  grew  the  magnificent  shrub,  with  its 
treasury  of  glowing  blossoms.  A  fragrance  was  diffused  from  it  which 


444  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Giovanni  recognized  as  identical  with  that  which  he  had  attributed 
to  Beatrice's  breath,  but  incomparably  more  powerful.  As  her 
eyes  fell  upon  it,  Giovanni  beheld  her  press  her  hand  to  her  bosom  as 
if  her  heart  were  throbbing  suddenly  and  painfully. 

"For  the  first  tune  in  my  life,"  murmured  she,  addressing  the 
shrub,  "I  had  forgotten  thee." 

"I  remember,  signora,"  said  Giovanni,  "that  you  once  promised 
to  reward  me  with  one  of  these  living  gems  for  the  bouquet  which  I 
had  the  happy  toldness  to  fling  to  your  feet.  Permit  me  now  to 
pluck  it  as  a  memorial  of  this  interview." 

He  made  a  step  towards  the  shrub  with  extended  hand;  but 
Beatrjce  darted  forward,  uttering  a  shriek  that  went  through  his 
heart  like  a  dagger.  She  caught  his  hand  and  drew  it  back  with  the 
whole  force  of  her  slender  figure.  Giovanni  felt  her  touch  thrilling 
through  his  fibres. 

"Touch  it  not!"  exclaimed  she,  in  a  voice  of  agony.  "Not  for 
thy  life!  It  is  fatal!" 

Then,  hiding  her  face,  she  fled  from  him  and  vanished  beneath 
the  sculptured  portal.  As  Giovanni  followed  her  with  his  eyes,  he 
beheld  the  emaciated  figure  and  pale  intelligence  of  Dr.  Rappaccini, 
who  had  been  watching  the  scene,  he  knew  not  how  long,  within  the 
shadow  of  the  entrance. 

No  sooner  was  Guasconti  alone  in  his  chamber  than  the  image  of 
Beatrice  came  back  to  his  passionate  musings,  invested  with  all  the 
witchery  that  had  been  gathering  around  it  ever  since  his  first  glimpse 
of  her,  and  now  likewise  imbued  with  a  tender  warmth  of  girlish 
womanhood.  She  was  human;  her  nature  was  endowed  with  all 
gentle  and  feminine  qualities;  she  was  worthiest  to  be  worshipped; 
she  was  capable,  surely,  on  her  part,  of  the  height  and  heroism  of  love. 
Those  tokens  which  he  had  hitherto  considered  as  proofs  of  a  frightful 
peculiarity  in  her  physical  and  moral  system  were  now  either  for- 
gotten or  by  the  subtle  sophistry  of  passion  transmuted  into  a  golden 
crown  of  enchantment,  rendering  Beatrice  the  more  admirable  by  so 
much  as  she  was  the  more  unique.  Whatever  had  looked  ugly  was 
now  beautiful;  or,  if  incapable  of  such  a  change,  it  stole  away  and  hid 
itself  among  those  shapeless  half  ideas  which  throng  the  dim  region 
beyond  the  daylight  of  our  perfect  consciousness.  Thus  did  he  spend 
the  night,  nor  fell  asleep  until  the  dawn  had  begun  to  awake  the 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  445 

slumbering  flowers  in  Dr.  Rappaccini's  garden,  whither  Giovanni's 
dreams  doubtless  led  him.  Up  rose  the  sun  in  his  due  season,  and, 
flinging  his  beams  upon  the  young  man's  eyelids,  awoke  him  to  a  sense 
of  pain.  When  thoroughly  aroused,  he  became  sensible  of  a  burning 
and  tingling  agony  in  his  hand — in  his  right  hand — the  very  hand 
which  Beatrice  had  grasped  in  her  own  when  he  was  on  the  point  of 
plucking  one  of  the  gemlike  flowers.  On  the  back  of  that  hand  there 
was  now  a  purple  print  like  that  of  four  small  fingers,  and  the  likeness 
of  a  slender  thumb  upon  his  wrist. 

O,  how  stubbornly  does  love, — or  even  that  cunning  semblance 
of  love  which  flourishes  in  the  imagination,  but  strikes  no  depth  of 
root  into  the  heart,— how  stubbornly  does  it  hold  its  faith  until  the 
moment  comes  when  it  is  doomed  to  vanish  into  thin  mist !  Giovanni 
wrapped  a  handkerchief  about  his  hand  and  wondered  what  evil 
thing  had  stung  him,  and  soon  forgot  his  pain  in  a  revery  of  Beatrice. 

After  the  first  interview,  a  second  was  in  the  inevitable  course  of 
what  we  call  fate.  A  third;  a  fourth;  and  a  meeting  with  Beatrice  in 
the  garden  was  no  longer  an  incident  in  Giovanni's  daily  life,  but  the 
whole  space  in  which  he  might  be  said  to  live;  for  the  anticipation 
and  memory  of  that  ecstatic  hour  made  up  the  remainder.  Nor 
was  it  otherwise  with  the  daughter  of  Rappaccini.  She  watched  for 
the  youth's  appearance  and  flew  to  his  side  with  confidence  as  unre- 
served as  if  they  had  been  playmates  from  early  infancy — as  if  they 
were  such  playmates  still.  If,  by  any  unwonted  chance,  he  failed 
to  come  at  the  appointed  moment,  she  stood  beneath  the  window 
and  sent  up  the  rich  sweetness  of  her  tones  to  float  around  him  in 
his  chamber  and  echo  and  reverberate  throughout  his  heart:  "Gio- 
vanni! Giovanni!  Why  tarriest  thou  ?  Comedown!"  And  down 
he  hastened  into  that  Eden  of  poisonous  flowers. 

But,  with  all  this  intimate  familiarity,  there  was  still  a  reserve  in 
Beatrice's  demeanor,  so  rigidly  and  invariably  sustained  that  the 
idea  of  infringing  it  scarcely  occurred  to  his  imagination.  By  all 
appreciable  signs,  they  loved;  they  had  looked  love  with  eyes  that 
conveyed  the  holy  secret  from  the  depths  of  one  soul  into  the  depths  of 
the  other,  as  if  it  were  too  sacred  to  be  whispered  by  the  way;  they 
had  even  spoken  love  in  those  gushes  of  passion  when  their  spirits 
darted  forth  in  articulated  breath  like  tongues  of  long  hidden  flame; 
and  yet  there  had  been  no  seal  of  lips,  no  clasp  of  hands,  nor  any 


446  AMERICAN  PROSE 


slightest  caress  such  as  love  claims  and  hallows.  He  had  never 
touched  one  of  the  gleaming  ringlets  of  her  hair;  her  garment — so 
marked  was  the  physical  barrier  between  them — had  never  been 
waved  against  him  by  a  breeze.  On  the  few  occasions  when  Gio- 
vanni had  seemed  tempted  to  overstep  the  limit,  Beatrice  grew  so 
sad,  so  stern,  and  withal  wore  such  a  look  of  desolate  separation, 
shuddering  at  itself,  that  not  a  spoken  word  was  requisite  to  repel 
him.  At  such  times  he  was  startled  at  the  horrible  suspicions  that 
rose,  monster-like,  out  of  the  caverns  of  his  heart  and  stared  him  in 
the  face;  his  love  grew  thin  and  faint  as  the  morning  mist;  his  doubts 
alone  had  substance.  But,  when  Beatrice's  face  brightened  again 
after  the  momentary  shadow,  she  was  transformed  at  once  from  the 
mysterious,  questionable  being  whom  he  had  watched  with  so  much 
awe  and  horror;  she  was  now  the  beautiful  and  unsophisticated  girl 
whom  he  felt  that  his  spirit  knew  with  a  certainty  beyond  all  other 
knowledge. 

A  considerable  time  had  now  passed  since  Giovanni's  last  meeting 
with  Baglioni.  One  morning,  however,  he  was  disagreeably  sur- 
prised by  a  visit  from  the  professor,  whom  he  had  scarcely  thought 
of  for  whole  weeks,  and  would  willingly  have  forgotten  still  longer. 
Given  up  as  he  had  long  been  to  a  pervading  excitement,  he  could 
tolerate  no  companions  except  upon  condition  of  their  perfect  sym- 
pathy with  his  present  state  of  feeling.  Such  sympathy  was  not 
to  be  expected  from  Professor  Baglioni. 

The  visitor  chatted  carelessly  for  a  few  moments  about  the  gossip 
of  the  city  and  the  university,  and  then  took  up  another  topic. 

"I  have  been  reading  an  old  classic  author  lately,"  said  he, 
"and  met  with  a  story  that  strangely  interested  me.  Possibly 
you  may  remember  it.  It  is  of  an  Indian  prince,  who  sent  a  beauti- 
ful woman  as  a  present  to  Alexander  the  Great.  She  was  as  lovely  as 
the  dawn  and  gorgeous  as  the  sunset;  but  what  especially  distin- 
guished her  was  a  certain  rich  perfume  in  her  breath — richer  than  a 
garden  of  Persian  roses.  Alexander,  as  was  natural  to  a  youthful 
conqueror,  fell  in  love  at  first  sight  with  this  magnificent  stranger; 
but  a  certain  sage  physician  happening  to  be  present,  discovered  a 
terrible  secret  in  regard  to  her." 

"And  what  was  that?"  asked  Giovanni,  turning  his  eyes  down- 
ward to  avoid  those  of  the  professor. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  447 

"That  this  lovely  woman,"  continued  Baglioni,  with  emphasis, 
"had  been  nourished  with  poisons  from  her  birth  upward,  until  her 
whole  nature  was  so  imbued  with  them  that  she  herself  had  become  the 
deadliest  poison  in  existence.  Poison  was  her  element  of  life.  With 
that  rich  perfume  of  her  breath  she  blasted  the  very  air.  Her  love  would 
have  been  poison — her  embrace  death.  Is  not  this  a  marvellous  tale  ? ' ' 

"A  childish  fable,"  answered  Giovanni,  nervously  starting  from 
his  chair.  "I  marvel  how  your  worship  finds  time  to  read  such 
nonsense  among  your  graver  studies." 

"By  the  by,"  said  the  professor,  looking  uneasily  about  him, 
"what  singular  fragrance  is  this  in  your  apartment?  Is  it  the  per- 
fume of  your  gloves?  It  is  faint,  but  delicious;  and  yet,  after  all, 
by  no  means  agreeable.  Were  I  to  breathe  it  long,  methinks  it 
would  make  me  ill.  It  is  like  the  breath  of  a  flower;  but  I  see  no 
flowers  in  the  chamber." 

"Nor  are  there  any,"  replied  Giovanni,  who  had  turned  pale  as 
the  professor  spoke;  "nor,  I  think,  is  there  any  fragrance  except  in 
your  worship's  imagination.  Odors,  being  a  sort  of  element  com- 
bined of  the  sensual  and  the  spiritual,  are  apt  to  deceive  us  in  this 
manner.  The  recollection  of  a  perfume,  the  bare  idea  of  it,  may 
easily  be  mistaken  for  a  present  reality." 

"Ay;  but  my  sober  imagination  does  not  often  play  such  tricks," 
said  Baglioni;  "and,  were  I  to  fancy  any  kind  of  odor,  it  would  be 
that  of  some  vile  apothecary  drug,  wherewith  my  fingers  are  likely 
enough  to  be  imbued.  Our  worshipful  friend  Rappaccini,  as  I  have 
heard,  tinctures  his  medicaments  with  odors  richer  than  those  of 
Araby.  Doubtless,  likewise,  the  fair  and  learned  Signora  Beatrice 
would  minister  to  her  patients  with  draughts  as  sweet  as  a  maiden's 
breath;  but  woe  to  him  that  sips  them!" 

Giovanni's  face  evinced  many  contending  emotions.  The  tone 
in  which  the  professor  alluded  to  the  pure  and  lovely  daughter  of 
Rappaccini  was  a  torture  to  his  soul;  and  yet  the  intimation  of  a  view 
of  her  character,  opposite  to  his  own,  gave  instantaneous  distinctness 
to  a  thousand  dim  suspicions,  which  now  grinned  at  him  like  so  many 
demons.  But  he  strove  hard  to  quell  them  and  to  respond  to  Baglioni 
with  a  true  lover's  perfect  faith. 

"Signer  professor,"  said  he,  "you  were  my  father's  friend;  per- 
chance, too,  it  is  your  purpose  to  act  a  friendly  part  towards  his  son. 


448  AMERICAN  PROSE 


I  would  fain  feel  nothing  towards  you  save  respect  and  deference;  but 
I  pray  you  to  observe,  signor,  that  there  is  one  subject  on  which  we 
must  not  speak.  You  know  not  the  Signora  Beatrice.  You  cannot, 
therefore,  estimate  the  wrong — the  blasphemy,  I  may  even  say — 
that  is  offered  to  her  character  by  a  light  or  injurious  word." 

"Giovanni!  my  poor  Giovanni!"  answered  the  professor,  with 
a  calm  expression  of  pity,  "I  know  this  wretched  girl  far  better  than 
yourself.  You  shall  hear  the  truth  in  respect  to  the  poisoner  Rap- 
paccini  and  his  poisonous  daughter;  yes,  poisonous  as  she  is  beauti- 
ful. Listen;  for,  even  should  you  do  violence  to  my  gray  hairs,  it 
shall  not  silence  me.  That  old  fable  of  the  Indian  woman  has 
become  a  truth  by  the  deep  and  deadly  science  of  Rappaccini  and  in 
the  person  of  the  lovely  Beatrice." 

Giovanni  groaned  and  hid  his  face. 

"Her  father,"  continued  Baglioni,  "was  not  restrained  by  natural 
affection  from  offering  up  his  child  in  this  horrible  manner  as  the 
victim  of  his  insane  zeal  for  science;  for,  let  us  do  him  justice,  he  is  as 
true  a  man  of  science  as  ever  distilled  his  own  heart  in  an  alembic. 
What,  then,  will  be  your  fate?  Beyond  a  doubt  you  are  selected 
as  the  material  of  some  new  experiment.  Perhaps  the  result  is  to  be 
death;  perhaps  a  fate  more  awful  still.  Rappaccini,  with  what  he 
calls  the  interest  of  science  before  his  eyes,  will  hesitate  at  nothing." 

"It  is  a  dream,"  muttered  Giovanni  to  himself;  "surely  it  is  a 
dream." 

"But,"  resumed  the  professor,  "be  of  good  cheer,  son  of  my 
friend.  It  is  not  yet  too  late  for  the  rescue.  Possibly  we  may  even 
succeed  in  bringing  back  this  miserable  child  within  the  limits  of 
ordinary  nature,  from  which  her  father's  madness  has  estranged  her. 
Behold  this  little  silver  vase!  It  was  wrought  by  the  hands  of  the 
renowned  Benvenuto  Cellini,  and  is  well  worthy  to  be  a  love  gift  to 
the  fairest  dame  in  Italy.  But  its  contents  are  invaluable.  One 
little  sip  of  this  antidote  would  have  rendered  the  most  virulent 
poisons  of  the  Borgias  innocuous.  Doubt  not  that  it  will  be  as  effica- 
cious against  those  of  Rappaccini.  Bestow  the  vase,  and  the  precious 
liquid  within  it,  on  your  Beatrice,  and  hopefully  await  the  result." 

Baglioni  laid  a  small,  exquisitely  wrought  silver  vial  on  the  table 
and  withdrew,  leaving  what  he  had  said  to  produce  its  effect  upon 
the  young  man's  mind. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  449 

"We  will  thwart  Rappaccini  yet,"  thought  he,  chuckling 
to  himself,  as  he  descended  the  stairs;  "but,  let  us  confess  the 
truth  of  him,  he  is  a  wonderful  man — a  wonderful  man  indeed; 
a  vile  empiric,  however,  in  his  practice,  and  therefore  not  to  be 
tolerated  by  those  who  respect  the  good  old  rules  of  the  medical 
profession." 

Throughout  Giovanni's  whole  acquaintance  with  Beatrice,  he 
had  occasionally,  as  we  have  said,  been  haunted  by  dark  surmises  as  to 
her  character;  yet  so  thoroughly  had  she  made  herself  felt  by  him  as 
a  simple,  natural,  most  affectionate,  and  guileless  creature,  that  the 
image  now  held  up  by  Professor  Baglioni  looked  as  strange  and 
incredible  as  if  it  were  not  in  accordance  with  his  own  original  con- 
ception. True,  there  were  ugly  recollections  connected  with  his 
first  glimpses  of  the  beautiful  girl;  he  could  not  quite  forget  the 
bouquet  that  withered  hi  her  grasp,  and  the  insect  that  perished  amid 
the  sunny  ah*,  by  no  ostensible  agency  save  the  fragrance  of  her 
breath.  These  incidents,  however,  dissolving  in  the  pure  light  of  her 
character,  had  no  longer  the  efficacy  of  facts,  but  were  acknowledged 
as  mistaken  fantasies,  by  whatever  testimony  of  the  senses  they 
might  appear  to  be  substantiated.  There  is  something  truer  and 
more  real  than  what  we  can  see  with  the  eyes  and  touch  with  the 
finger.  On  such  better  evidence  had  Giovanni  founded  his  confidence 
in  Beatrice,  though  rather  by  the  necessary  force  of  her  high  attri- 
butes than  by  any  deep  and  generous  faith  on  his  part.  But  now  his 
spirit  was  incapable  of  sustaining  itself  at  the  height  to  which  the 
early  enthusiasm  of  passion  had  exalted  it;  he  fell  down,  grovelling 
among  earthly  doubts,  and  defiled  therewith  the  pure  whiteness  of 
Beatrice's  image.  Not  that  he  gave  her  up;  he  did  but  distrust.  He 
resolved  to  institute  some  decisive  test  that  should  satisfy  him,  once 
for  all,  whether  there  were  those  dreadful  peculiarities  in  her  physical 
nature  which  could  not  be  supposed  to  exist  without  some  corre- 
sponding monstrosity  of  soul.  His  eyes,  gazing  down  afar,  might 
have  deceived  him  as  to  the  lizard,  the  insect,  and  the  flowers;  but  if 
he  could  witness,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  paces,  the  sudden  blight  of 
one  fresh  and  healthful  flower  in  Beatrice's  hand,  there  would  be  room 
for  no  further  question.  With  this  idea  he  hastened  to  the  florist's 
and  purchased  a  bouquet  that  was  still  gemmed  with  the  morning 
dewdrops. 


450  AMERICAN  PROSE 


It  was  now  the  customary  hour  of  his  daily  interview  with 
Beatrice.  Before  descending  into  the  garden,  Giovanni  failed  not  to 
look  at  his  figure  in  the  mirror — a  vanity  to  be  expected  in  a  beautiful 
young  man,  yet,  as  displaying  itself  at  that  troubled  and  feverish 
moment,  the  token  of  a  certain  shallowness  of  feeling  and  insincerity 
of  character.  He  did  gaze,  however,  and  said  to  himself  that  his 
features  had  never  before  possessed  so  rich  a  grace,  nor  his  eyes  such 
vivacity,  nor  his  cheeks  so  warm  a  hue  of  superabundant  life. 

"At  least,"  thought  he,  "her  poison  has  not  yet  insinuated  itself 
into  my  system.  I  am  no  flower  to  perish  in  her  grasp." 

With  that  thought  he  turned  his  eyes  on  the  bouquet,  which  he 
had  never  once  laid  aside  from  his  hand.  A  thrill  of  indefinable 
horror  shot  through  his  frame  on  perceiving  that  those  dewy  flowers 
were  already  beginning  to  droop ;  they  wore  the  aspect  of  things  that 
had  been  fresh  and  lovely  yesterday.  Giovanni  grew  white  as  marble, 
and  stood  motionless  before  the  mirror,  staring  at  his  own  reflection 
there  as  at  the  likeness  of  something  frightful.  He  remembered 
Baglioni's  remark  about  the  fragrance  that  seemed  to  pervade  the 
chamber.  It  must  have  been  the  poison  ha  his  breath!  Then  he 
shuddered — shuddered  at  himself.  Recovering  from  his  stupor,  he 
began  to  watch  with  curious  eye  a  spider  that  was  busily  at  work  hang- 
ing its  web  from  the  antique  cornice  of  the  apartment,  crossing  and 
recrossing  the  artful  system  of  interwoven  lines — as  vigorous  and 
active  a  spider  as  ever  dangled  from  an  old  ceiling.  Giovanni  bent 
towards  the  insect,  and  emitted  a  deep,  long  breath.  The  spider 
suddenly  ceased  its  toil;  the  web  vibrated  with  a  tremor  originating 
in  the  body  of  the  small  artisan.  Again  Giovanni  sent  forth  a  breath, 
deeper,  longer,  and  imbued  with  a  venomous  feeling  out  of  his  heart: 
he  knew  not  whether  he  were  wicked,  or  only  desperate.  The  spider 
made  a  convulsive  gripe  with  his  limbs  and  hung  dead  across  the 
window. 

"Accursed!  accursed!"  muttered  Giovanni,  addressing  himself. 
"  Hast  thou  grown  so  poisonous  that  this  deadly  insect  perishes  by  thy 
breath?" 

At  that  moment  a  rich,  sweet  voice  came  floating  up  from  the 
garden. 

"Giovanni!  Giovanni!  It  is  past  the  hour!  Why  tarriest 
thou  ?  Come  do wn ! " 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  451 

"Yes,"  muttered  Giovanni  again.  "She  is  the  only  being  whom 
my  breath  may  not  slay!  Would  that  it  might!" 

He  rushed  down,  and  in  an  instant  was  standing  before  the  bright 
and  loving  eyes  of  Beatrice.  A  moment  ago  his  wrath  and  despair 
had  been  so  fierce  that  he  could  have  desired  nothing  so  much  as  to 
wither  her  by  a  glance;  but  with  her  actual  presence  there  came 
influences  which  had  too  real  an  existence  to  be  at  once  shaken  off; 
recollections  of  the  delicate  and  benign  power  of  her  feminine  nature, 
which  had  so  often  enveloped  him  in  a  religious  calm;  recollections 
of  many  a  holy  and  passionate  outgush  of  her  heart,  when  the  pure 
fountain  had  been  unsealed  from  its  depths  and  made  visible  in  its 
transparency  to  his  mental  eye;  recollections  which,  had  Giovanni 
known  how  to  estimate  them,  would  have  assured  him  that  all  this 
ugly  mystery  was  but  an  earthly  illusion,  and  that,  whatever  mist  of 
evil  might  seem  to  have  gathered  over  her,  the  real  Beatrice  was  a 
heavenly  angel.  Incapable  as  he  was  of  such  high  faith,  still  her 
presence  had  not  utterly  lost  its  magic.  Giovanni's  rage  was  quelled 
into  an  aspect  of  sullen  insensibility.  Beatrice,  with  a  quick  spiritual 
sense,  immediately  felt  that  there  was  a  gulf  of  blackness  between 
them  which  neither  he  nor  she  could  pass.  They  walked  on  together, 
sad  and  silent,  and  came  thus  to  the  marble  fountain  and  to  its  pool 
of  water  on  the  ground,  in  the  midst  of  which  grew  the  shrub  that 
bore  gemlike  blossoms.  Giovanni  was  affrighted  at  the  eager 
enjoyment — the  appetite,  as  it  were — with  which  he  found  himself 
inhaling  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers.  v 

"Beatrice,"  asked  he,  abruptly,  "whence  came  this  shrub?" 

"My  father  created  it,"  answered  she,  with  simplicity. 

"Created  it!  created  it!"  repeated  Giovanni.  "What  mean 
you,  Beatrice?" 

"He  is  a  man  fearfully  acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  Nature," 
replied  Beatrice;  "and,  at  the  hour  when  I  first  drew  breath,  this 
plant  sprang  from  the  soil,  the  offspring  of  his  science,  of  his  intellect, 
while  I  was  but  his  earthly  child.  Approach  it  not!"  continued  she, 
observing  with  terror  that  Giovanni  was  drawing  nearer  to  the  shrub. 
"It  has  qualities  that  you  little  dream  of.  But  I,  dearest  Giovanni,— 
I  grew  up  and  blossomed  with  the  plant  and  was  nourished  with  its 
breath.  It  was  my  sister,  and  I  loved  it  with  a  human  affection; 
for,  alas! — hast  thou  not  suspected  it? — there  was  an  awful  doom." 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


Here  Giovanni  frowned  so  darkly  upon  her  that  Beatrice  paused 
and  trembled.  But  her  faith  hi  his  tenderness  reassured  her,  and 
made  her  blush  that  she  had  doubted  for  an  instant. 

"There  was  an  awful  doom,"  she  continued,  "the  effect  of  my 
father's  fatal  love  of  science,  which  estranged  me  from  all  society  of 
my  kind.  Until  Heaven  sent  thee,  dearest  Giovanni,  O,  how  lonely 
was  thy  poor  Beatrice!" 

"Was  it  a  hard  doom  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"Only  of  late  have  I  known  how  hard  it  was,"  answered  she, 
tenderly.  "O,  yes;  but  my  heart  was  torpid,  and  therefore  quiet." 

Giovanni's  rage  broke  forth  from  his  sullen  gloom  like  a  lightning 
flash  out  of  a  dark  cloud. 

"Accursed  one!"  cried  he,  with  venomous  scorn  and  anger. 
"And  finding  thy  solitude  wearisome,  thou  hast  severed  me  likewise 
from  all  the  warmth  of  life  and  enticed  me  into  thy  region  of  unspeak- 
able horror!" 

"Giovanni!"  exclaimed  Beatrice,  turning  her  large  bright  eyes 
upon  his  face.  The  force  of  his  words  had  not  found  its  way  into  her 
mind;  she  was  merely  thunderstruck. 

"Yes,  poisonous  thing!"  repeated  Giovanni,  beside  himself  with 
passion.  "Thou  hast  done  it!  Thou  hast  blasted  me!  Thou  hast 
filled  my  veins  with  poison!  Thou  hast  made  me  as  hateful,  as  ugly, 
as  loathsome  and  deadly  a  creature  as  thyself — a  world's  wonder  of 
hideous  monstrosity!  Now,  if  our  breath  be  happily  as  fatal  to  our- 
selves as  to  all  others,  let  us  join  our  lips  in  one  kiss  of  unutterable 
hatred,  and  so  die! " 

"What  has  befallen  me?"  murmured  Beatrice,  with  a  low  moan 
out  of  her  heart.  "Holy  Virgin,  pity  me,  a  poor  heart-broken 
child!" 

"Thou, — dost  thou  pray?"  cried  Giovanni,  still  with  the  same 
fiendish  scorn.  "Thy  very  prayers,  as  they  come  from  thy  lips,  taint 
the  atmosphere  with  death.  Yes,  yes;  let  us  pray!  Let  us  to  church 
and  dip  our  fingers  in  the  holy  water  at  the  portal!  They  that 
come  after  us  will  perish  as  by  a  pestilence!  Let  us  sign  crosses  in  the 
air!  It  will  be  scattering  curses  abroad  in  the  likeness  of  holy  sym- 
bols!" 

"Giovanni,"  said  Beatrice,  calmly,  for  her  grief  was  beyond 
passion,  "why  dost  thou  join  thyself  with  me  thus  hi  those  terrible 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  453 

words  ?  I,  it  is  true,  am  the  horrible  thing  thou  namest  me.  But 
thou, — what  hast  thou  to  do,  save  with  one  other  shudder  at  my 
hideous  misery  to  go  forth  out  of  the  garden  and  mingle  with  thy  race, 
and  forget  that  there  ever  crawled  on  earth  such  a  monster  as  poor 
Beatrice?" 

"Dost  thou  pretend  ignorance?"  asked  Giovanni,  scowling  upon 
her.  "Behold!  this  power  have  I  gained  from  the  pure  daughter  of 
Rappaccini." 

There  was  a  swarm  of  summer  insects  flitting  through  the  air 
in  search  of  the  food  promised  by  the  flower  odors  of  the  fatal  garden. 
They  circled  round  Giovanni's  head,  and  were  evidently  attracted 
towards  him  by  the  same  influence  which  had  drawn  them  for  an 
instant  within  the  sphere  of  several  of  the  shrubs.  He  sent  forth  a 
breath  among  them,  and  smiled  bitterly  at  Beatrice  as  at  least  a  score 
of  the  insects  fell  dead  upon  the  ground. 

"I  see  it!  I  see  it!"  shrieked  Beatrice.  "It  is  my  father's  fatal 
science !  No,  no,  Giovanni ;  it  was  not  I !  Never !  never !  I  dreamed 
only  to  love  thee  and  be  with  thee  a  little  time,  and  so  to  let  thee  pass 
away,  leaving  but  thine  image  in  mine  heart;  for,  Giovanni,  believe  it, 
though  my  body  be  nourished  with  poison,  my  spirit  is  God's  creature, 
and  craves  love  as  its  daily  food.  But  my  father, — he  has  united 
us  in  this  fearful  sympathy.  Yes;  spurn  me,  tread  upon  me,  kill. me! 
O,  what  is  death  after  such  words  as  thine  ?  But  it  was  not  I.  Not 
for  a  world  of  bliss  would  I  have  done  it." 

Giovanni's  passion  had  exhausted  itself  in  its  outburst  from  his 
lips.  There  now  came  across  him  a  sense,  mournful,  and  not  without 
tenderness,  of  the  intimate  and  peculiar  relationship  between  Beatrice 
and  himself.  They  stood,  as  it  were,  in  an  utter  solitude,  which 
would  be  made  none  the  less  solitary  by  the  densest  throng  of  human 
life.  Ought  not,  then,  the  desert  of  humanity  around  them  to  press 
this  insulated  pair  closer  together?  If  they  should  be  cruel  to  one 
another,  who  was  there  to  be  kind  to  them?  Besides,  thought 
Giovanni,  might  there  not  still  be  a  hope  of  his  returning  within  the 
limits  of  ordinary  nature,  and  leading  Beatrice,  the  redeemed  Beatrice, 
by  the  hand  ?  O,  weak,  and  selfish,  and  unworthy  spirit,  that  could 
dream  of  an  earthly  union  and  earthly  happiness  as  possible,  after 
such  deep  love  had  been  so  bitterly  wronged  as  was  Beatrice's  love  by 
Giovanni's  blighting  words!  No,  no;  there  could  be  no  such  hope. 


454  AMERICAN  PROSE 


She  must  pass  heavily,  with  that  broken  heart,  across  the  borders  of 
Time — she  must  bathe  her  hurts  in  some  fount  of  paradise,  and  forget 
her  grief  in  the  light  of  immortality,  and  there  be  well. 

But  Giovanni  did  not  know  it. 

"Dear  Beatrice,"  said  he,  approaching  her,  while  she  shrank 
away  as  always  at  his  approach,  but  now  with  a  different  impulse, 
"dearest  Beatrice,  our  fate  is  not  yet  so  desperate.  Behold!  there 
is  a  medicine,  potent,  as  a  wise  physician  has  assured  me,  and  almost 
divine  in  its  efficacy.  It  is  composed  of  ingredients  the  most  opposite 
to  those  by  which  thy  awful  father  has  brought  this  calamity  upon 
thee  and  me.  It  is  distilled  of  blessed  herbs.  Shall  we  not  quaff  it 
together,  and  thus  be  purified  from  evil?" 

"Give  it  me!"  said  Beatrice,  extending  her  hand  to  receive  the 
little  silver  vial  which  Giovanni  took  from  his  bosom.  She  added, 
with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  "I  will  drink;  but  do  thou  await  the  result." 

She  put  Baglioni's  antidote  to  her  lips;  and,  at  the  same  moment, 
the  figure  of  Rappaccini  emerged  from  the  portal  and  came  slowly 
towards  the  marble  fountain.  As  he  drew  near,  the  pale  man  of 
science  seemed  to  gaze  with  a  triumphant  expression  at  the  beautiful 
youth  and  maiden,  as  might  an  artist  who  should  spend  his  life  in 
achieving  a  picture  or  a  group  of  statuary  and  finally  be  satisfied 
with  his  success.  He  paused;  his  bent  form  grew  erect  with 
conscious  power;  he  spread  out  his  hands  over  them  in  the  attitude  of 
a  father  imploring  a  blessing  upon  his  children;  but  those  were  the 
same  hands  that  had  thrown  poison  into  the  stream  of  their  lives. 
Giovanni  trembled.  Beatrice  shuddered  nervously,  and  pressed  her 
hand  upon  her  heart. 

"My  daughter,"  said  Rappaccini,  "thou  art  no  longer  lonely  in 
the  world.  Pluck  one  of  those  precious  gems  from  thy  sister  shrub 
and  bid  thy  bridegroom  wear  it  in  his  bosom.  It  will  not  harm  him 
now.  My  science  and  the  sympathy  between  thee  and  him  have 
so  wrought  within  his  system  that  he  now  stands  apart  from  common 
men,  as  thou  dost,  daughter  of  my  pride  and  triumph,  from  ordinary 
women.  Pass  on,  then,  through  the  world,  most  dear  to  one  another 
and  dreadful  to  all  besides!" 

"My  father,"  said  Beatrice,  feebly,— and  still  as  she  spoke  she 
kept  her  hand  upon  her  heart, — "wherefore  didst  thou  inflict  this 
miserable  doom  upon  thy  child?" 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  455 

"Miserable!"  exclaimed  Rappaccini.  "What  mean  you,  foolish 
girl  ?  Dost  thou  deem  it  misery  to  be  endowed  with  marvellous  gifts 
against  which  no  power  nor  strength  could  avail  an  enemy — misery,  to 
be  able  to  quell  the  mightiest  with  a  breath — misery,  to  be  as  terrible 
as  thou  art  beautiful?  Wouldst  thou,  then,  have  preferred  the 
condition  of  a  weak  woman,  exposed  to  all  evil  and  capable  of 
none  ?  " 

"I  would  fain  have  been  loved,  not  feared,"  murmured  Beatrice, 
sinking  down  upon  the  ground.  "But  now  it  matters  not.  I  am 
going,  father,  where  the  evil  which  thou  hast  striven  to  mingle  with 
my  being  will  pass  away  like  a  dream — like  the  fragrance  of  these 
poisonous  flowers,  which  will  no  longer  taint  my  breath  among  the 
flowers  of  Eden.  Farewell,  Giovanni!  Thy  words  of  hatred  are 
like  lead  within  my  heart;  but  they,  too,  will  fall  away  as  I  ascend. 
O,  was  there  not,  from  the  first,  more  poison  in  thy  nature  than  in 
mine  ?  " 

To  Beatrice, — so  radically  had  her  earthly  part  been  wrought 
upon  by  Rappaccini's  skill, — as  poison  had  been  life,  so  the  powerful 
antidote  was  death;  and  thus  the  poor  victim  of  man's  ingenuity 
and  of  thwarted  nature,  and  of  the  fatality  that  attends  all  such  efforts 
of  perverted  wisdom,  perished  there,  at  the  feet  of  her  father  and 
Giovanni.  Just  at  that  moment  Professor  Pietro  Baglioni  looked 
forth  from  the  window,  and  called  loudly,  in  a  tone  of  triumph  mixed 
with  horror,  to  the  thunderstricken  man  of  science, — 

"Rappaccini!  Rappaccini!  and  is  this  the  upshot  of  your  ex- 
periment ?" 


FEATHERTOP;  A  MORALIZED  LEGEND 

"Dickon,"  cried  Mother  Rigby,  ;'a  coal  for  my  pipe!" 
The  pipe  was  hi  the  old  dame's  mouth  when  she  said  these  words. 
She  had  thrust  it  there  after  filling  it  with  tobacco,  but  without 
stooping  to  light  it  at  the  hearth,  where  indeed  there  was  no  appear- 
ance of  a  fire  having  been  kindled  that  morning.  Forthwith,  how- 
ever, as  soon  as  the  order  was  given,  there  was  an  intense  red  glow 
out  of  the  bowl  of  the  pipe,  and  a  whiff  of  smoke  from  Mother  Rigby's 
lips.  Whence  the  coal  came,  and  how  brought  thither  by  an  invisible 
hand,  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover. 


456  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"  Good ! "  quoth  Mother  Rigby,  with  a  nod  of  her  head.  "  Thank 
ye,  Dickon!  And  now  for  making  this  scarecrow.  Be  within  call, 
Dickon,  in  case  I  need  you  again." 

The  good  woman  had  risen  thus  early,  (for  as  yet  it  was  scarcely 
sunrise,)  in  order  to  set  about  making  a  scarecrow,  which  she  intended 
to  put  in  the  middle  of  her  cornpatch.  It  was  now  the  latter  week 
of  May,  and  the  crows  and  blackbirds  had  already  discovered  the 
little,  green,  rolled-up  leaf  of  the  Indian  corn  just  peeping  out  of  the 
soil.  She  was  determined,  therefore,  to  contrive  as  lifelike  a  scarecrow 
as  ever  was  seen,  and  to  finish  it  immediately,  from  top  to  toe,  so  that 
it  should  begin  its  sentinel's  duty  that  very  morning.  Now  Mother 
Rigby,  (as  every  body  must  have  heard,)  was  one  of  the  most  cunning 
and  potent  witches  in  New  England,  and  might,  with  very  little 
trouble,  have  made  a  scarecrow  ugly  enough  to  frighten  the  minister 
himself.  But  on  this  occasion,  as  she  had  awakened  in  an  uncom- 
monly pleasant  humor,  and  was  further  dulcified  by  her  pipe  of 
tobacco,  she  resolved  to  produce  something  fine,  beautiful,  and 
splendid,  rather  than  hideous  and  horrible. 

"I  don't  want  to  set  up  a  hobgoblin  in  my  own  corn  patch,  and 
almost  at  my  own  doorstep,"  said  Mother  Rigby  to  herself,  puffing 
out  a  whiff  of  smoke;  "I  could  do  it  if  I  pleased,  but  I  'm  tired  of 
doing  marvellous  things,  and  so  I  '11  keep  within  the  bounds  of  every- 
day business,  just  for  variety's  sake.  Besides,  there  is  no  use  in 
scaring  the  little  children  for  a  mile  roundabout,  though  't  is  true  I  'm 
a  witch." 

It  was  settled,  therefore,  in  her  own  mind,  that  the  scarecrow 
should  represent  a  fine  gentleman  of  the  period,  so  far  as  the  materials 
at  hand  would  allow.  Perhaps  it  may  be  as  well  to  enumerate  the 
chief  of  the  articles  that  went  to  the  composition  of  this  figure. 

The  most  important  item  of  all,  probably,  although  it  made  so 
little  show,  was  a  certain  broomstick,  on  which  Mother  Rigby  had 
taken  many  an  airy  gallop  at  midnight,  and  which  now  served  the 
scarecrow  by  way  of  a  spinal  column,  or,  as  the  unlearned  phrase  it, 
a  backbone.  One  of  its  arms  was  a  disabled  flail  which  used  to  be 
wielded  by  Goodman  Rigby,  before  his  spouse  worried  him  out  of 
this  troublesome  world;  the  other,  if  I  mistake  not,  was  composed 
of  the  pudding  stick  and  a  broken  rung  of  a  chair,  tied  loosely  together 
at  the  elbow.  As  for  its  legs,  the  right  was  a  hoe  handle,  and  the 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  457 

left  an  undistinguished  and  miscellaneous  stick  from  the  woodpile. 
Its  lungs,  stomach,  and  other  affairs  of  that  kind  were  nothing 
better  than  a  meal  bag  stuffed  with  straw.  Thus  we  have  made  out 
the  skeleton  and  entire  corporosity  of  the  scarecrow,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  its  head;  and  this  was  admirably  supplied  by  a  somewhat 
withered  and  shrivelled  pumpkin,  in  which  Mother  Rigby  cut  two 
holes  for  the  eyes,  and  a  slit  for  the  mouth,  leaving  a  bluish-colored 
knob  in  the  middle  to  pass  for  a  nose.  It  was  really  quite  a  respect- 
able face. 

"I've  seen  worse  ones  on  human  shoulders,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Mother  Rigby.  "And  many  a  fine  gentleman  has  a  pumpkin  head, 
as  well  as  my  scarecrow." 

But  the  clothes,  in  this  case,  were  to  be  the  making  of  the  man. 
So  the  good  old  woman  took  down  from  a  peg  an  ancient  plum- 
colored  coat  of  London  make,  and  with  relics  of  embroidery  on  its 
seams,  cuffs,  pocket  flaps,  and  button  holes,  but  lamentably  worn  and 
faded,  patched  at  the  elbows,  tattered  at  the  skirts,  and  threadbare 
all  over.  On  the  left  breast  was  a  round  hole,  whence  either  a  star 
of  nobility  had  been  rent  away,  or  else  the  hot  heart  of  some  former 
wearer  had  scorched  it  through  and  through.  The  neighbors  said 
that  this  rich  garment  belonged  to  the  Black  Man's  wardrobe,  and  that 
he  kept  it  at  Mother  Rigby's  cottage  for  the  convenience  of  slipping 
it  on  whenever  he  wished  to  make  a  grand  appearance  at  the  governor's 
table.  To  match  the  coat  there  was  a  velvet  waistcoat  of  very  ample 
size,  and  formerly  embroidered  with  foliage  that  had  been  as  brightly 
golden  as  the  maple  leaves  in  October,  but  which  had  now  quite 
vanished  out  of  the  substance  of  the  velvet.  Next  came  a  pair 
of  scarlet  breeches,  once  worn  by  the  French  governor  of  Louisbourg, 
and  the  knees  of  which  had  touched  the  lower  step  of  the  throne  of 
Louis  le  Grand.  The  Frenchman  had  given  these  smallclothes  to  an 
Indian  powwow,  who  parted  with  them  to  the  old  witch  for  a  gill  of 
strong  waters,  at  one  of  their  dances  in  the  forest.  Furthermore, 
Mother  Rigby  produced  a  pair  of  silk  stockings  and  put  them  on 
the  figure's  legs,  where  they  showed  as  unsubstantial  as  a  dream,  with 
the  wooden  reality  of  the  two  sticks  making  itself  miserably  apparent 
through  the  holes.  Lastly,  she  put  her  dead  husband's  wig  on  the  bare 
scalp  of  the  pumpkin,  and  surmounted  the  whole  with  a  dusty  three- 
cornered  hat,  in  which  was  stuck  the  longest  tail  feather  of  a  rooster. 


458  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Then  the  old  dame  stood  the  figure  up  in  a  corner  of  her  cottage 
and  chuckled  to  behold  its  yellow  semblance  of  a  visage,  with  its 
nobby  little  nose  thrust  into  the  air.  It  had  a  strangely  self-satisfied 
aspect,  and  seemed  to  say,  "Come  look  at  me!" 

"And  you  are  well  worth  looking  at,  that  's  a  fact!"  quoth 
Mother  Rigby,  in  admiration  at  her  own  handiwork.  "I've  made 
many  a  puppet  since  I  Ve  been  a  witch,  but  methinks  this  is  the 
finest  of  them  all.  'T  is  almost  too  good  for  a  scarecrow.  And,  by 
the  by,  I  '11  just  fill  a  fresh  pipe  of  tobacco  and  then  take  him  out  to 
the  corn  patch." 

While  filling  her  pipe,  the  old  woman  continued  to  gaze  with 
almost  motherly  affection  at  the  figure  in  the  corner.  To  say  the 
truth,  whether  it  were  chance,  or  skill,  or  downright  witchcraft, 
there  was  something  wonderfully  human  in  this  ridiculous  shape, 
bedizened  with  its  tattered  finery;  and  as  for  the  countenance,  it 
appeared  to  shrivel  its  yellow  surface  into  a  grin — a  funny  kind  of 
expression  betwixt  scorn  and  merriment,  as  if  it  understood  itself 
to  be  a  jest  at  mankind.  The  more  Mother  Rigby  looked  the  better 
she  was  pleased. 

"Dickon,"  cried  she  sharply,  "another  coal  for  my  pipe!" 

Hardly  had  she  spoken,  than,  just  as  before,  there  was  a  red- 
glowing  coal  on  the  top  of  the  tobacco.  She  drew  in  a  long  whiff 
and  puffed  it  forth  again  into  the  bar  of  morning  sunshine  which 
struggled  through  the  one  dusty  pane  of  her  cottage  window.  Mother 
Rigby  always  liked  to  flavor  her  pipe  with  a  coal  of  fire  from  the 
particular  chimney  corner  whence  this  had  been  brought.  But 
where  that  chimney  corner  might  be,  or  who  brought  the  coal  from  it 
— further  than  that  the  invisible  messenger  seemed  to  respond  to  the 
name  of  Dickon — I  cannot  tell. 

"That  puppet  yonder,"  thought  Mother  Rigby,  still  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  scarecrow,  "is  too  good  a  piece  of  work  to  stand  all 
summer  in  a  corn  patch,  frightening  away  the  crows  and  blackbirds. 
He  's  capable  of  better  things.  Why,  I  Ve  danced  with  a  worse  one, 
when  partners  happened  to  be  scarce,  at  our  witch  meetings  in  the 
forest!  What  if  I  should  let  him  take  his  chance  among  the  other 
men  of  straw  and  empty  fellows  who  go  bustling  about  the  world  ?" 

The  old  witch  took  three  or  four  more  whirls  of  her  pipe  and 
smiled. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  459 

"He  '11  meet  plenty  of  his  brethren  at  every  street  corner!"  con- 
tinued she.  "Well;  I  did  n't  mean  to  dabble  in  witchcraft  to-day, 
further  than  the  lighting  of  my  pipe;  but  a  witch  I  am,  and  a  witch 
I  'm  likely  to  be,  and  there's  no  use  trying  to  shirk  it.  I  '11  make  a 
man  of  my  scarecrow,  were  it  only  for  the  joke's  sake!" 

While  muttering  these  words  Mother  Rigby  took  the  pipe  from 
her  own  mouth  and  thrust  it  into  the  crevice  which  represented  the 
same  feature  in  the  pumpkin  visage  of  the  scarecrow. 

"Puff,  darling,  puff!"  said  she.  "Puff  away,  my  fine  fellow! 
your  life  depends  on  it!" 

This  was  a  strange  exhortation,  undoubtedly,  to  be  addressed 
to  a  mere  thing  of  sticks,  straw,  and  old  clothes,  with  nothing  better 
than  a  shrivelled  pumpkin  for  a  head;  as  we  know  to  have  been  the 
scarecrow's  case.  Nevertheless,  as  we  must  carefully  hold  in  remem- 
brance, Mother  Rigby  was  a  witch  of  singular  power  and  dexterity; 
and,  keeping  this  fact  duly  before  our  minds,  we  shall  see  nothing 
beyond  credibility  in  the  remarkable  incidents  of  our  story.  Indeed, 
the  great  difficulty  will  be  at  once  got  over,  if  we  can  only  bring 
ourselves  to  believe  that,  as  soon  as  the  old  dame  bade  him  puff,  there 
came  a  whiff  of  smoke  from  the  scarecrow's  mouth.  It  was  the 
feeblest  of  whiffs,  to  be  sure;  but  it  was  followed  by  another  and 
another,  each  more  decided  than  the  preceding  one. 

"Puff  away,  my  pet!  puff  away,  my  pretty  one!"  Mother  Rigby 
kept  repeating,  with  her  pleasantest  smile.  "It  is  the  breath  of  life 
to  ye;  and  that  you  may  take  my  word  for." 

Beyond  all  question  the  pipe  was  bewitched.  There  must  have 
been  a  spell  either  in  the  tobacco  or  in  the  fiercely-glowing  coal  thai 
so  mysteriously  burned  on  top  of  it,  or  in  the  pungently-aromatic 
smoke  which  exhaled  from  the  kindled  weed.  The  figure,  after  a 
few  doubtful  attempts,  at  length  blew  forth  a  volley  of  smoke  extend- 
ing all  the  way  from  the  obscure  corner  into  the  bar  of  sunshine. 
There  it  eddied  and  melted  away  among  the  motes  of  dust.  It 
seemed  a  convulsive  effort;  for  the  two  or  three  next  whiffs  were 
fainter,  although  the  coal  still  glowed  and  threw  a  gleam  over  the 
scarecrow's  visage.  The  old  witch  clapped  her  skinny  hands 
together,  and  smiled  encouragingly  upon  her  handiwork.  She  saw 
that  the  charm  worked  well.  The  shrivelled,  yellow  face,  which 
heretofore  had  been  no  face  at  all,  had  already  a  thin,  fantastic 


460  AMERICAN  PROSE 


haze,  as  it  were,  of  human  likeness,  shifting  to  and  fro  across  it; 
sometimes  vanishing  entirely,  but  growing  more  perceptible  than 
ever  with  the  next  whiff  from  the  pipe.  The  whole  figure,  in  like 
manner,  assumed  a  show  of  life,  such  as  we  impart  to  ill-defined 
shapes  among  the  clouds,  and  half  deceive  ourselves  with  the  pastime 
of  our  own  fancy. 

If  we  must  needs  pry  closely  into  the  matter,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  there  was  any  real  change,  after  all,  in  the  sordid,  wornout, 
worthless,  and  ill-jointed  substance  of  the  scarecrow;  but  merely  a 
spectral  illusion,  and  a  cunning  effect  of  light  and  shade  so  colored 
and  contrived  as  to  delude  the  eyes  of  most  men.  The  miracles  of 
witchcraft  seem  always  to  have  had  a  very  shallow  subtlety;  and,  at 
least,  if  the  above  explanation  do  not  hit  the  truth  of  the  process,  I 
can  suggest  no  better. 

"Well  puffed,  my  pretty  lad!"  still  cried  old  Mother  Rigby. 
"  Come,  another  good  stout  whiff,  and  let  it  be  with  might  and  main. 
Puff  for  thy  life,  I  tell  thee!  Puff  out  of  the  very  bottom  of  thy 
heart;  if  any  heart  thou  hast,  or  any  bottom  to  it!  Well  done, 
again !  Thou  didst  suck  in  that  mouthful  as  if  for  the  pure  love  of  it." 

And  then  the  witch  beckoned  to  the  scarecrow,  throwing  so  much 
magnetic  potency  into  her  gesture  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  inevi- 
tably be  obeyed,  like  the  mystic  call  of  the  loadstone  when  it  sum- 
mons the  iron. 

"Why  lurkest  thou  in  the  corner,  lazy  one?"  said  she.  "Step 
forth!  Thou  hast  the  world  before  thee!"  Upon  my  word,  if  the 
legend  were  not  one  which  I  heard  on  my  grandmother's  knee, 
and  which  had  established  its  place  among  things  credible  before 
my  childish  judgment  could  analyze  its  probability,  I  question 
whether  I  should  have  the  face  to  tell  it  now. 

In  obedience  to  Mother  Rigby's  word,  and  extending  its  arm 
as  if  to  reach  her  outstretched  hand,  the  figure  made  a  step  forward — 
a  kind  of  hitch  and  jerk,  however,  rather  than  a  step — then  tottered 
-and  almost  lost  its  balance.  What  could  the  witch  expect?  It 
was  nothing,  after  all,  but  a  scarecrow  stuck  upon  two  sticks.  But 
the  strong-willed  old  beldam  scowled,  and  beckoned,  and  flung 
the  energy  of  her  purpose  so  forcibly  at  this  poor  combination  of  rotten 
wood,  and  musty  straw,  and  ragged  garments,  that  it  was  com- 
pelled to  show  itself  a  man,  in  spite  of  the  reality  of  things.  So  it 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  461 

stepped  into  the  bar  of  sunshine.  There  it  stood — poor  devil  of  a 
contrivance  that  it  was! — with  only  the  thinnest  vesture  of  human 
similitude  about  it,  through  which  was  evident  the  stiff,  ricketty, 
incongruous,  faded,  tattered,  good-for-nothing  patchwork  of  its  sub- 
stance, ready  to  sink  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor,  as  conscious  of  its 
own  unworthiness  to  be  erect.  Shall  I  confess  the  truth?  At  its 
present  point  of  vivification,  the  scarecrow  reminds  me  of  some  of  the 
lukewarm  and  abortive  characters,  composed  of  heterogeneous 
materials,  used  for  the  thousandth  time,  and  never  worth  using,  with 
which  romance  writers,  (and  myself,  no  doubt,  among  the  rest,)  have 
so  over-peopled  the  world  of  fiction. 

But  the  fierce  old  hag  began  to  get  angry  and  show  a  glimpse 
of  her  diabolic  nature,  (like  a  snake's  head,  peeping  with  a  hiss  out  of 
her  bosom,)  at  this  pusillanimous  behavior  of  the  thing  which  she  had 
taken  the  trouble  to  put  together. 

"Puff  away,  wretch!"  cried  she,  wrathfully.  "Puff,  puff,  puff, 
thou  thing  of  straw  and  emptiness!  thou  rag  or  two!  thou  meal 
bag!  thou  pumpkin  head!  thou  nothing!  Where  shall  I  find  a  name 
vile  enough  to  call  thee  by  ?  Puff,  I  say,  and  suck  in  thy  fantastic 
life  along  with  the  smoke;  else  I  snatch  the  pipe  from  thy  mouth  and 
hurl  thee  where  that  red  coal  came  from." 

Thus  threatened,  the  unhappy  scarecrow  had  nothing  for  it  but 
to  puff  away  for  dear  life.  As  need  was,  therefore,  it  applied  itself 
lustily  to  the  pipe  and  sent  forth  such  abundant  volleys  of  tobacco 
smoke  that  the  small  cottage  kitchen  became  all  vaporous.  The  one 
sunbeam  struggled  mistily  through,  and  could  but  imperfectly  define 
the  image  of  the  cracked  and  dusty  window  pane  on  the  opposite  wall. 
Mother  Rigby,  meanwhile,  with  one  brown  arm  akimbo  and  the 
other  stretched  towards  the  figure,  loomed  grimly  amid  the  obscurity 
with  such  port  and  expression  as  when  she  was  wont  to  heave  a 
ponderous  nightmare  on  her  victims  and  stand  at  the  bedside  to 
enjoy  their  agony.  In  fear  and  trembling  did  this  poor  scarecrow  puff. 
But  its  efforts,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  served  an  excellent  purpose; 
for,  with  each  successive  whiff,  the  figure  lost  more  and  more  of  its 
dizzy  and  perplexing  tenuity  and  seemed  to  take  denser  substance. 
Its  very  garments,  moreover,  partook  of  the  magical  change,  and 
shone  with  the  gloss  of  novelty  and  glistened  with  the  skilfully 
embroidered  gold  that  had  long  ago  been  rent  away.  And,  half 


462  AMERICAN  PROSE 

revealed  among  the  smoke,  a  yellow  visage  bent  its  lustreless  eyes 
on  Mother  Rigby. 

At  last  the  old  witch  clinched  her  fist  and  shook  it  at  the  figure. 
Not  that  she  was  positively  angry,  but  merely  acting  on  the  prin- 
ciple— perhaps  untrue,  or  not  the  only  truth,  though  as  high  a  one  as 
Mother  Rigby  could  be  expected  to  attain — that  feeble  and  torpid 
natures,  being  incapable  of  better  inspiration,  must  be  stirred  up  by 
fear.  But  here  was  the  crisis.  Should  she  fail  in  what  she  now 
sought  to  effect,  it  was  her  ruthless  purpose  to  scatter  the  miserable 
simulacre  into  its  original  elements. 

"Thou  has  a  man's  aspect,"  said  she,  sternly.  "Have  also  the 
echo  and  mockery  of  a  voice!  I  bid  thee  speak!" 

The  scarecrow  gasped,  struggled,  and  at  length  emitted  a 
murmur,  which  was  so  incorporated  with  its  smoky  breath  that  you 
could  scarcely  tell  whether  it  were  indeed  a  voice  or  only  a  whiff  of 
tobacco.  Some  narrators  of  this  legend  hold  the  opinion  that 
Mother  Rigby's  conjurations  and  the  fierceness  of  her  will  had  com- 
pelled a  familiar  spirit  into  the  figure,  and  that  the  voice  was  his. 

"Mother,"  mumbled  the  poor  stifled  voice,  "be  not  so  awful 
with  me!  I  would  fain  speak;  but  being  without  wits,  what  can  I 
say?" 

"Thou  canst  speak,  darling,  canst  thou?"  cried  Mother  Rigby, 
relaxing  her  grim  countenance  into  a  smile.  "And  what  shalt  thou 
say,  quotha!  Say,  indeed!  Art  thou  of  the  brotherhood  of  the 
empty  skull,  and  demandest  of  me  what  thou  shalt  say  ?  Thou  shalt 
say  a  thousand  things,  and  saying  them  a  thousand  times  over,  thou 
shalt  still  have  said  nothing!  Be  not  afraid,  I  tell  thee!  When  thou 
comest  into  the  world,  (whither  I  purpose  sending  thee  forthwith,) 
thou  shalt  not  lack  the  wherewithal  to  talk.  Talk!  Why,  thou 
shalt  babble  like  a  mill  stream,  if  thou  wilt.  Thou  hast  brains  enough 
for  that,  I  trow!" 

"At  your  service,  mother,"  responded  the  figure. 

"And  that  was  well  said,  my  pretty  one,"  answered  Mother 
Rigby.  "Then  thou  spakest  like  thyself,  and  meant  nothing. 
Thou  shalt  have  a  hundred  such  set  phrases,  and  five  hundred  to 
the  boot  of  them.  And  now,  darling,  I  have  taken  so  much  pains 
with  thee,  and  thou  art  so  beautiful,  that,  by  my  troth,  I  love  thee 
better  than  any  witch's  puppet  in  the  world;  and  I  Ve  made  them  of 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  463 

all  sorts — clay,  wax,  straw,  sticks,  night  fog,  morning  mist,  sea  foam, 
and  chimney  smoke.  But  thou  art  the  very  best.  So  give  heed  to 
what  I  say." 

"Yes,  kind  mother,"  said  the  figure,  "with  all  my  heart!" 

"With  all  thy  heart!"  cried  the  old  witch,  setting  her  hands  to 
her  sides  and  laughing  loudly.  "Thou  hast  such  a  pretty  way  of 
speaking.  With  all  thy  heart!  And  thou  didst  put  thy  hand  to  the 
left  side  of  thy  waistcoat  as  if  thou  really  hadst  one!" 

So  now,  in  high  good  humor  with  this  fantastic  contrivance  of 
hers,  Mother  Rigby  told  the  scarecrow  that  it  must  go  and  play  its 
part  in  the  great  world,  where  not  one  man  hi  a  hundred,  she  affirmed, 
was  gifted  with  more  real  substance  than  itself.  And,  that  he  might 
hold  up  his  head  with  the  best  of  them,  she  endowed  him,  on  the  spot, 
with  an  unreckonable  amount  of  wealth.  It  consisted  partly  of  a  gold 
mine  in  Eldorado,  and  of  ten  thousand  shares  in  a  broken  bubble, 
and  of  half  a  million  acres  of  vineyard  at  the  North  Pole,  and  of  a 
castle  hi  the  air,  and  a  chateau  hi  Spain,  together  with  all  the  rents 
and  income  therefrom  accruing.  She  further  made  over  to  him  the 
cargo  of  a  certain  ship,  laden  with  salt  of  Cadiz,  which  she  herself, 
by  her  necromantic  arts,  had  caused  to  founder,  ten  years  before, 
in  the  deepest  part  of  mid  ocean.  If  the  salt  were  not  dissolved,  and 
could  be  brought  to  market,  it  would  fetch  a  pretty  penny  among 
the  fishermen.  That  he  might  not  lack  ready  money,  she  gave  him 
a  copper  farthing  of  Birmingham  manufacture,  being  all  the  com  she 
had  about  her,  and  likewise  a  great  deal  of  brass,  which  she  applied 
to  his  forehead,  thus  making  it  yellower  than  ever. 

"With  that  brass  alone,"  quoth  Mother  Rigby,  "thou  canst 
pay  thy  way  all  over  the  earth.  Kiss  me,  pretty  darling!  I  have 
done  my  best  for  thee." 

Furthermore,  that  the  adventurer  might  lack  no  possible  advan- 
tage towards  a  fair  start  hi  life,  this  excellent  old  dame  gave  him  a 
token  by  which  he  was  to  introduce  himself  to  a  certain  magistrate, 
member  of  the  council,  merchant,  and  elder  of  the  church,  (the 
four  capacities  constituting  but  one  man,)  who  stood  at  the  head 
of  society  hi  the  neighboring  metropolis.  The  token  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  single  word,  which  Mother  Rigby  whispered 
to  the  scarecrow,  and  which  the  scarecrow  was  to  whisper  to  the 
merchant. 


464  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"  Gouty  as  the  old  fellow  is,  he  '11  run  thy  errands  for  thee,  when 
once  thou  hast  given  him  that  word  in  his  ear,"  said  the  old  witch. 
"Mother  Rigby  knows  the  worshipful  Justice  Gookin,  and  the 
worshipful  Justice  knows  Mother  Rigby!" 

Here  the  witch  thrust  her  wrinkled  face  close  to  the  puppet's, 
chuckling  irrepressibly,  and  fidgeting  all  through  her  system,  with 
delight  at  the  idea  which  she  meant  to  communicate. 

"The  worshipful  Master  Gookin,"  whispered  she,  "hath  a  comely 
maiden  to  his  daughter.  And  hark  ye,  my  pet!  Thou  hast  a  fair 
outside,  and  a  pretty  wit  enough  of  thine  own.  Yea,  a  pretty  wit 
enough!  Thou  wilt  think  better  of  it  when  thou  hast  seen  more  of 
other  people's  wits.  Now,  with  thy  outside  and  thy  inside,  thou  art 
the  very  man  to  win  a  young  girl's  heart.  Never  doubt  it!  I  tell 
thee  it  shall  be  so.  Put  but  a  bold  face  on  the  matter,  sigh,  smile, 
flourish  thy  hat,  thrust  forth  thy  leg  like  a  dancing  master,  put  thy 
right  hand  to  the  left  side  of  thy  waistcoat,  and  pretty  Polly  Gookin 
is  thine  own!" 

All  this  while  the  new  creature  had  been  sucking  in  and  exhaling 
the  vapory  fragrance  of  his  pipe,  and  seemed  now  to  continue  this 
occupation  as  much  for  the  enjoyment  it  afforded  as  because  it  was 
an  essential  condition  of  his  existence.  It  was  wonderful  to  see 
how  exceedingly  like  a  human  being  it  behaved.  Its  eyes,  (for  it 
appeared  to  possess  a  pair,)  were  bent  on  Mother  Rigby,  and  at 
suitable  junctures  it  nodded  or  shook  its  head.  Neither  did  it  lack 
words  proper  for  the  occasion:  "Really!  Indeed!  Pray  tell  me! 
Is  it  possible!  Upon  my  word!  By  no  means!  O!  Ah!  Hem!" 
and  other  such  weighty  utterances  as  imply  attention,  inquiry, 
acquiescence,  or  dissent  on  the  part  of  the  auditor.  Even  had  you 
stood  by  and  seen  the  scarecrow  made,  you  could  scarcely  have 
resisted  the  conviction  that  it  perfectly  understood  the  cunning 
counsels  which  the  old  witch  poured  into  its  counterfeit  of  an  ear. 
The  more  earnestly  it  applied  its  lips  to  the  pipe,  the  more  distinctly 
was  its  human  likeness  stamped  among  visible  realities,  the  more 
sagacious  grew  its  expression,  the  more  lifelike  its  gestures  and 
movements,  and  the  more  intelligibly  audible  its  voice.  Its  gar- 
ments, too,  glistened  so  much  the  brighter  with  an  illusory 
magnificence.  The  very  pipe,  in  which  burned  the  spell  of  all  this 
wonderwork,  ceased  to  appear  as  a  smoke-blackened  earthen 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  465 

Btump,  and  became  a  meerschaum,  with  painted  bowl  and  amber 
mouthpiece. 

It  might  be  apprehended,  however,  that  as  the  life  of  the  illusion 
seemed  identical  with  the  vapor  of  the  pipe,  it  would  terminate 
simultaneously  with  the  reduction  of  the  tobacco  to  ashes.  But 
the  beldam  fpresaw  the  difficulty. 

"Hold  thou  the  pipe,  my  precious  one,"  said  she,  "while  I  fill  it 
for  thee  again." 

It  was  sorrowful  to  behold  how  the  fine  gentleman  began  to  fade 
back  into  a  scarecrow  while  Mother  Rigby  shook  the  ashes  out  of  the 
pipe  and  proceeded  to  replenish  it  from  her  tobacco  box. 

"Dickon,"  cried  she,  in  her  high,  sharp  tone,  "another  coal  for 
this  pipe!" 

No  sooner  said  than  the  intensely  red  speck  of  fire  was  glowing 
within  the  pipe-bowl;  and  the  scarecrow,  without  waiting  for  the 
witch's  bidding,  applied  the  tube  to  his  lips  and  drew  in  a  few  short, 
convulsive  whiffs,  which  soon,  however,  became  regular  and  equable. 

"Now,  mine  own  heart's  darling,"  quoth  Mother  Rigby,  "what- 
ever may  happen  to  thee,  thou  must  stick  to  thy  pipe.  Thy  life  is  hi 
it;  and  that,  at  least,  thou  knowest  well,  if  thou  knowest  nought 
besides.  Stick  to  thy  pipe,  I  say!  Smoke,  puff,  blow  thy  cloud; 
and  tell  the  people,  if  any  question  be  made,  that  it  is  for  thy  health, 
and  that  so  the  physician  orders  thee  to  do.  And,  sweet  one,  when 
thou  shalt  find  thy  pipe  getting  low,  go  apart  into  some  corner,  and, 
(first  filling  thyself  with  smoke,)  cry  sharply,  'Dickon,  a  fresh  pipe 
of  tobacco!'  and,  'Dickon,  another  coal  for  my  pipe!'  and  have  it  into 
thy  pretty  mouth  as  speedily  as  may  be.  Else,  instead  of  a  gallant 
gentleman  in  a  gold-laced  coat,  thou  wilt  be  but  a  jumble  of  sticks 
and  tattered  clothes,  and  a  bag  of  straw,  and  a  withered  pumpkin! 
Now  depart,  my  treasure,  and  good  luck  go  with  thee!" 

"Never  fear,  mother!"  said  the  figure,  in  a  stout  voice,  and  send- 
ing forth  a  courageous  whiff  of  smoke.  "I  will  thrive,  if  an  honest 
man  and  a  gentleman  may!" 

"O,  thou  wilt  be  the  death  of  me!"  cried  the  old  witch,  con- 
vulsed with  laughter.  "That  was  well  said.  If  an  honest  man  and 
a  gentleman  may!  Thou  playest  thy  part  to  perfection.  Get  along 
.with  thee  for  a  smart  fellow;  and  I  will  wager  on  thy  head,  as  a  man 
of  pith  and  substance,  with  a  brain,  and  what  they  call  a  heart,  and 


466  AMERICAN  PROSE 


all  else  that  a  man  should  have,  against  any  other  thing  on  two  legs. 
I  hold  myself  a  better  witch  than  yesterday,  for  thy  sake.  Did 
not  I  make  thee  ?  And  I  defy  any  witch  in  New  England  to  make 
such  another!  Here;  take  my  staff  along  with  thee!" 

The  staff,  though  it  was  but  a  plain  oaken  stick,  immediately 
took  the  aspect  of  a  gold-headed  cane. 

"That  gold  head  has  as  much  sense  in  it  as  thine  own,"  said 
Mother  Rigby,  "and  it  will  guide  thee  straight  to  worshipful  Master 
Gookin's  door.  Get  thee  gone,  my  pretty  pet,  my  darling,  my 
precious  one,  my  treasure;  and  if  any  ask  thy  name,  it  is  Feathertop. 
For  thou  hast  a  feather  in  thy  hat,  and  I  have  thrust  a  handful  of 
feathers  into  the  hollow  of  thy  head,  and  thy  wig  too  is  of  the  fashion 
they  call  Feathertop, — so  be  Feathertop  thy  name!" 

And,  issuing  from  the  cottage,  Feathertop  strode  manfully 
towards  town.  Mother  Rigby  stood  at  the  threshold,  well  pleased 
to  see  how  the  sunbeams  glistened  on  him,  as  if  all  his  magnificence 
were  real,  and  how  diligently  and  lovingly  he  smoked  his  pipe,  and 
how  handsomely  he  walked,  in  spite  of  a  little  stiffness  of  his  legs. 
She  watched  him  until  out  of  sight,  and  threw  a  witch  benediction 
after  her  darling,  when  a  turn  of  the  road  snatched  him  from  her  view. 

Betimes  in  the  forenoon,  when  the  principal  street  of  the  neigh- 
boring town  was  just  at  its  acme  of  life  and  bustle,  a  stranger  of  very 
distinguished  figure  was  seen  on  the  sidewalk.  His  port  as  well  as 
his  garments  betokened  nothing  short  of  nobility.  He  wore  a  richly- 
embroidered  plum-colored  coat,  a  waistcoat  of  costly  velvet  magnifi- 
cently adorned  with  golden  foliage,  a  pair  of  splendid  scarlet  breeches, 
and  the  finest  and  glossiest  of  white  silk  stockings.  His  head  was  cov- 
ered with  a  peruke,  so  daintily  powdered  and  adjusted  that  it  would 
have  been  sacrilege  to  disorder  it  with  a  hat ;  which,  therefore,  (and  it 
was  a  gold-laced  hat,  set  off  with  a  snowy  feather,)  he  carried  beneath 
his  arm.  On  the  breast  of  his  coat  glistened  a  star.  He  managed  his 
gold-headed  cane  with  an  airy  grace  peculiar  to  the  fine  gentlemen  of 
the  period;  and,  to  give  the  highest  possible  finish  to  his  equipment, 
he  had  lace  ruffles  at  his  wrist,  of  a  most  ethereal  delicacy,  sufficiently 
avouching  how  idle  and  aristocratic  must  be  the  hands  which  they  half 
concealed. 

It  was  a  remarkable  point  in  the  accoutrement  of  this  brilliant 
personage,  that  he  held  in  his  left  hand  a  fantastic  kind  of  a  pipe,  with 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  46? 

an  exquisitely  painted  bowl  and  an  amber  mouthpiece.  This  he 
applied  to  his  lips  as  often  as  every  five  or  six  paces,  and  inhaled  a 
deep  whiff  of  smoke,  which,  after  being  retained  a  moment  in  his 
lungs,  might  be  seen  to  eddy  gracefully  from  his  mouth  and 
nostrils. 

As  may  well  be  supposed,  the  street  was  all  astir  to  find  out  the 
stranger's  name. 

"It  is  some  great  nobleman,  beyond  question,"  said  one  of  the 
townspeople.  "Do  you  see  the  star  at  his  breast?" 

"Nay;  it  is  too  bright  to  be  seen,"  said  another.  "Yes;  he  must 
needs  be  a  nobleman,  as  you  say.  But  by  what  conveyance,  think 
you,  can  his  lordship  have  voyaged  or  travelled  hither  ?  There  has 
been  no  vessel  from  the  old  country  for  a  month  past ;  and  if  he  have 
arrived  overland  from  the  southward,  pray  where  are  his  attendants 
and  equipage?" 

"He  needs  no  equipage  to  set  off  his  rank,"  remarked  a  third. 
"If  he  came  among  us  in  rags,  nobility  would  shine  through  a  hole  in 
his  elbow.  I  never  saw  such  dignity  of  aspect.  He  has  the  old 
Norman  blood  in  his  veins,  I  warrant  him." 

"I  rather  take  him  to  be  a  Dutchman,  or  one  of  your  high 
Germans,"  said  another  citizen.  "The  men  of  those  countries  have 
always  the  pipe  at  their  mouths." 

"And  so  has  a  Turk,"  answered  his  companion.  "But,  in  my 
judgment,  this  stranger  hath  been  bred  at  the  French  court,  and  hath 
there  learned  politeness  and  grace  of  manner,  which  none  understand 
so  well  as  the  nobility  of  France.  That  gait,  now!  A  vulgar  spec- 
tator might  deem  it  stiff — he  might  call  it  a  hitch  and  jerk — but, 
to  my  eye,  it  hath  an  unspeakable  majesty,  and  must  have  been 
acquired  by  constant  observation  of  the  deportment  of  the  Grand 
Monarque.  The  stranger's  character  and  office  are  evident  enough. 
He  is  a  French  ambassador,  come  to  treat  with  our  rulers  about  the 
cession  of  Canada." 

"More  probably  a  Spaniard,"  said  another,  "and  hence  his 
yellow  complexion;  or,  most  likely,  he  is  from  the  Havana,  or  from 
some  port  on  the  Spanish  main,  and  comes  to  make  investigation 
about  the  piracies  which  our  governor  is  thought  to  connive  at. 
Those  settlers  in  Peru  and  Mexico  have  skins  as  yellow  as  the  gold 
which  they  dig  out  of  their  mines." 


468  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"Yellow  or  not,"  cried  a  lady,  "he  is  a  beautiful  man! — so  tall, 
so  slender!  such  a  fine,  noble  face,  with  so  well-shaped  a  nose,  and 
all  that  delicacy  of  expression  about  the  mouth!  And,  bless  me,  how 
bright  his  star  is!  It  positively  shoots  out  flames!" 

"So  do  your  eyes,  fair  lady,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  bow  and 
a  flourish  of  his  pipe ;  for  he  was  just  passing  at  the  instant.  "Upon 
my  honor,  they  have  quite  dazzled  me." 

"Was  ever  so  original  and  exquisite  a  compliment?"  murmured 
the  lady,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

Amid  the  general  admiration  excited  by  the  stranger's  appear- 
ance, there  were  only  two  dissenting  voices.  One  was  that  of  an 
impertinent  cur,  which,  after  snuffing  at  the  heels  of  the  glistening 
figure,  put  its  tail  between  its  legs  and  skulked  into  its  master's  back 
yard,  vociferating  an  execrable  howl.  The  other  dissentient  was  a 
young  child,  who  squalled  "at  the  fullest  stretch  of  his  lungs,  and 
babbled  some  unintelligible  nonsense  about  a  pumpkin. 

Feathertop  meanwhile  pursued  his  way  along  the  street.  Except 
for  the  few  complimentary  words  to  the  lady,  and  now  and  then  a 
slight  inclination  of  the  head  in  requital  of  the  profound  reverences 
of  the  bystanders,  he  seemed  wholly  absorbed  in  his  pipe.  There 
needed  no  other  proof  of  his  rank  and  consequence  than  the  perfect 
equanimity  with  which  he  comported  himself,  while  the  curiosity  and 
admiration  of  the  town  swelled  almost  into  clamor  around  him.  With 
a  crowd  gathering  behind  his  footsteps,  he  finally  reached  the  mansion 
house  of  the  worshipful  Justice  Gookin,  entered  the  gate,  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  front  door,  and  knocked.  In  the  interim,  before  his 
summons  was  answered,  the  stranger  was  observed  to  shake  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"What  did  he  say  in  that  sharp  voice?"  inquired  one  of  the 
spectators. 

"Nay,  I  know  not,"  answered  his  friend.  "But  the  sun  dazzles 
my  eyes  strangely.  How  dim  and  faded  his  lordship  looks  all  of  a 
sudden!  Bless  my  wits,  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  " 

"The  wonder  is,"  said  the  other,  "that  his  pipe,  which  was 
out  only  an  instant  ago,  should  be  all  alight  again,  and  with  the  reddest 
coal  I  ever  saw.  There  is  something  mysterious  about  this  stranger. 
What  a  whiff  of  smoke  was  that  ?  Dun  and  faded  did  you  call  him  ? 
Why,  as  he  turns  about  the  star  on  his  breast  is  all  ablaze." 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  469 

"It  is,  indeed,"  said  his  companion;  "and  it  will  go  near  to 
dazzle  pretty  Polly  Gookin,  whom  I  see  peeping  at  it  out  of  the 
chamber  window." 

The  door  being  now  opened,  Feathertop  turned  to  the  crowd, 
made  a  stately  bend  of  his  body  like  a  great  man  acknowledging  the 
reverence  of  the  meaner  sort,  and  vanished  into  the  house.  There 
was  a  mysterious  kind  of  a  smile,  if  it  might  not  better  be  called  a  grin 
or  grimace,  upon  his  visage;  but,  of  all  the  throng  that  beheld  him, 
not  an  individual  appears  to  have  possessed  insight  enough  to  detect 
the  illusive  character  of  the  stranger  except  a  little  child  and  a  cur  dog. 

Our  legend  here  loses  somewhat  of  its  continuity,  and,  passing. 
over  the  preliminary  explanation  between  Feathertop  and  the 
merchant,  goes  in  quest  of  the  pretty  Polly  Gookin.  She  was  a 
damsel  of  a  soft,  round  figure,  with  light  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  a 
fair,  rosy  face,  which  seemed  neither  very  shrewd  nor  very  simple. 
This  young  lady  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glistening  stranger 
while  standing  at  the  threshold,  and  had  forthwith  put  on  a  laced 
cap,  a  string  of  beads,  her  finest  kerchief,  and  her  stiffest  damask 
petticoat  in  preparation  for  the  interview.  Hurrying  from  her 
chamber  to  the  parlor,  she  had  ever  since  been  viewing  herself  in  the 
large  looking  glass  and  practising  pretty  airs — now  a  smile,  now  a 
ceremonious  dignity  of  aspect,  and  now  a  softer  smile  than  the  former, 
kissing  her  hand  likewise,  tossing  her  head,  and  managing  her  fan; 
while  within  the  mirror  an  unsubstantial  little  maid  repeated  every 
gesture  and  did  all  the  foolish  things  that  Polly  did,  but  without 
making  her  ashamed  of  them.  In  short,  it  was  the  fault  of  pretty 
Polly's  ability  rather  than  her  will  if  she  failed  to  be  as  complete  an 
artifice  as  the  illustrious  Feathertop  himself;  and,  when  she  thus 
tampered  with  her  own  simplicity,  the  witch's  phantom  might  well 
hope  to  win  her. 

No  sooner  did  Polly  hear  her  father's  gouty  footsteps  approaching 
the  parlor  door,  accompanied  with  the  stiff  clatter  of  Feathertop's 
high-heeled  shoes,  than  she  seated  herself  bolt  upright  and  innocently 
began  warbling  a  song. 

"Polly!  daughter  Polly!"  cried  the  old  merchant.  "Come 
hither,  child." 

Master  Gookin's  aspect,  as  he  opened  the  door,  was  doubtful 
and  troubled. 


470  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"This  gentleman,"  continued  he,  presenting  the  stranger,  "is 
the  Chevalier  Feathertop, — nay,  I  beg  his  pardon,  my  Lord  Feather- 
top,  who  has  brought  me  a  token  of  remembrance  from  an  ancient 
friend  of  mine.  Pay  your  duty  to  his  lordship,  child,  and  honor  him 
as  his  quality  deserves." 

After  these  few  words  of  introduction  the  worshipful  magistrate 
immediately  quitted  the  room.  But,  even  in  that  brief  moment, 
had  the  fair  Polly  glanced  aside  at  her  father  instead  of  devoting 
herself  wholly  to  the  brilliant  guest,  she  might  have  taken  warning  of 
some  mischief  nigh  at  hand.  The  old  man  was  nervous,  fidgety,  and 
very  pale.  Purposing  a  smile  of  courtesy,  he  had  deformed  his 
face  with  a  sort  of  galvanic  grin,  which,  when  Feathertop's  back  was 
turned,  he  exchanged  for  a  scowl,  at  the  same  time  shaking  his  fist 
and  stamping  his  gouty  foot — an  incivility  which  brought  its  retribu- 
tion along  with  it.  The  truth  appears  to  have  been,  that  Mother 
Rigby's  word  of  introduction,  whatever  it  might  be,  had  operated 
far  more  on  the  rich  merchant's  fears  than  on  his  good  will.  More- 
over, being  a  man  of  wonderfully  acute  observation,  he  had  noticed 
that  the  painted  figures  on  the  bowl  of  Feathertop's  pipe  we.e  in 
motion.  Looking  more  closely,  he  became  convinced  that  these 
figures  were  a  party  of  little  demons,  each  duly  provided  with  horns 
and  a  tail,  and  dancing  hand  in  hand,  with  gestures  of  diabolical  merri- 
ment, round  the  circumference  of  the  pipe  bowl.  As  if  to  confirm 
his  suspicions,  while  Master  Gookin  ushered  his  guest  along  a  dusky 
passage  from  his  private  room  to  the  parlor,  the  star  on  Feathertop's 
breast  had  scintillated  actual  flames,  and  threw  a  flickering  gleam 
upon  the  wall,  the  ceiling,  and  the  floor. 

With  such  sinister  prognostics  manifesting  themselves  on  all 
hands,  it  is  not  to  be  marvelled  at  that  the  merchant  should  have 
felt  that  he  was  committing  his  daughter  to  a  very  questionable 
acquaintance.  He  cursed,  In  his  secret  soul,  the  insinuating  ele- 
gance of  Feathertop's  manners,  as  this  brilliant  personage  bowed, 
smiled,  put  his  hand  on  his  heart,  inhaled  a  long  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
and  enriched  the  atmosphere  with  the  smoky  vapor  of  a  fragrant 
and  visible  sigh.  Gladly  would  poor  Master  Gookin  have  thrust 
his  dangerous  guest  into  the  street;  but  there  was  a  constraint  and 
terror  within  him.  This  respectable  old  gentleman,  we  fear,  at 
an  earlier  period  of  life,  had  given  some  pledge  or  other  to  the  evil 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  471 

principle,  and  perhaps  was  now  to  redeem  it  by  the  sacrifice  of  his 
daughter. 

It  so  happened  that  the  parlor  door  was  partly  of  glass,  shaded 
by  a  silken  curtain,  the  folds  of  which  hung  a  little  awry.  So  strong 
was  the  merchant's  interest  in  witnessing  what  was  to  ensue  between 
the  fair  Polly  and  the  gallant  Feathertop  that  after  quitting  the  room 
he  could  by  no  means  refrain  from  peeping  through  the  crevice  of 
the  curtain. 

But  there  was  nothing  very  miraculous  to  be  seen;  nothing — 
except  the  trifles  previously  noticed — to  confirm  the  idea  of  a  super- 
natural peril  environing  the  pretty  Polly.  The  stranger,  it  is  true, 
was  evidently  a  thorough  and  practised  man  of  the  world,  systematic 
and  self-possessed,  and  therefore  the  sort  of  a  person  to  whom  a  parent 
ought  not  to  confide  a  simple,  young  girl  without  due  watchfulness 
for  the  result.  The  worthy  magistrate,  who  had  been  conversant 
with  all  degrees  and  qualities  of  mankind,  could  not  but  perceive 
every  motion  and  gesture  of  the  distinguished  Feathertop  came  in 
its  proper  place;  nothing  had  been  left  rude  or  native  in  him;  a 
well-digested  conventionalism  had  incorporated  itself  thoroughly 
with  his  substance  and  transformed  him  into  a  work  of  art.  Perhaps 
it  was  this  peculiarity  that  invested  him  with  a  species  of  ghastliness 
and  awe.  It  is  the  effect  of  any  thing  completely  and  consummately 
artificial,  in  human  shape,  that  the  person  impresses  us  as  an  unreality 
and  as  having  hardly  pith  enough  to  cast  a  shadow  upon  the  floor. 
As  regarded  Feathertop,  all  this  resulted  in  a  wild,  extravagant, 
and  fantastical  impression,  as  if  his  life  and  being  were  akin  to  the 
smoke  that  curled  upward  from  his  pipe. 

But  pretty  Polly  Gookin  felt  not  thus.  The  pair  were  now 
promenading  the  room;  Feathertop  with  his  dainty  stride  and  no 
less  dainty  grimace;  the  girl  with  a  native  maidenly  grace,  just 
touched,  not  spoiled,  by  a  slightly  affected  manner,  which  seemed 
caught  from  the  perfect  artifice  of  her  companion.  The  longer 
the  interview  continued,  the  more  charmed  was  pretty  Polly,  until, 
within  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour,  (as  the  old  magistrate  noted  by  his 
watch,)  she  was  evidently  beginning  to  be  in  love.  Nor  need  it  have 
been  witchcraft  that  subdued  her  in  such  a  hurry;  the  poor  child's 
heart,  it  may  be,  was  so  very  fervent  that  it  melted  her  with  its  own 
warmth  as  reflected  from  the  hollow  semblance  of  a  lover.  No  matter 


472  AMERICAN  PROSE 


what  Feathertop  said,  his  words  found  depth  and  reverberation  in  her 
ear;  no  matter  what  he  did,  his  action  was  heroic  to  her  eye.  And 
by  this  time  it  is  to  be  supposed  there  was  a  blush  on  Polly's  cheek, 
a  tender  smile  about  her  mouth,  and  a  liquid  softness  in  her  glance; 
while  the  star  kept  coruscating  on  Feathertop's  breast,  and  the  little 
demons  careered  with  more  frantic  merriment  than  ever  about  the 
circumference  of  his  pipe  bowl.  O  pretty  Polly  Gookin,  why  should 
these  imps  rejoice  so  madly  that  a  silly  maiden's  heart  was  about 
to  be  given  to  a  shadow!  Is  it  so  unusual  a  misfortune,  so  rare  a 
triumph  ? 

By  and  by  Feathertop  paused,  and,  throwing  himself  into  an 
imposing  attitude,  seemed  to  summon  the  fair  girl  to  survey  his 
figure  and  resist  him  longer  if  she  could.  His  star,  his  embroidery, 
his  buckles  glowed  at  that  instant  with  unutterable  splendor;  the 
picturesque  hues  of  his  attire  took  a  richer  depth  of  coloring;  there 
was  a  gleam  and  polish  over  his  whole  presence  betokening  the  perfect 
witchery  of  well-ordered  manners.  The  maiden  raised  her  eyes  and 
suffered  them  to  linger  upon  her  companion  with  a  bashful  and  admir- 
ing gaze.  Then,  as  if  desirous  of  judging  what  value  her  own  simple 
comeliness  might  have  side  by  side  with  so  much  brilliancy,  she  cast 
a  glance  towards  the  full-length  looking  glass  in  front  of  which  they 
happened  to  be  standing.  It  was  one  of  the  truest  plates  in  the 
world,  and  incapable  of  flattery.  No  sooner  did  the  images  therein 
reflected  meet  Polly's  eye  than  she  shrieked,  shrank  from  the  stranger's 
side,  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment  in  the  wildest  dismay,  and  sank 
insensible  upon  the  floor.  Feathertop  likewise  had  looked  towards  the 
mirror,  and  there  beheld,  not  the  glittering  mockery  of  his  outside 
show,  but  a  picture  of  the  sordid  patchwork  of  his  real  composition 
stripped  of  all  witchcraft. 

The  wretched  simulacrum!  We  almost  pity  him.  He  threw 
up  his  arms  with  an  expression  of  despair  that  went  further  than  any 
of  his  previous  manifestations  towards  vindicating  his  claims  to  be 
reckoned  human;  for,  perchance  the  only  time  since  this  so  often 
empty  and  deceptive  life  of  mortals  began  its  course,  an  illusion  had 
seen  and  fully  recognized  itself. 

Mother  Rigby  was  seated  by  her  kitchen  hearth  in  the  twilight 
of  this  eventful  day,  and  had  just  shaken  the  ashes  out  of  a  new  pipe, 
when  she  heard  a  hurried  tramp  along  the  road.  Yet  it  did  not  seem 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  473 

so  much  the  tramp  of  human  footsteps  as  the  clatter  of  sticks  or  the 
rattling  of  dry  bones. 

"Ha!"  thought  the  old  witch,  "what  step  is  that?  Whose 
skeleton  is  out  of  its  grave  now,  I  wonder  ?" 

A  figure  burst  headlong  into  the  cottage  door.  It  was  Feather- 
top  L  His  pipe  was  still  alight;  the  star  still  flamed  upon  his  breast; 
the  embroidery  still  glowed  upon  his  garments;  nor  had  he  lost,  in 
any  degree  or  manner  that  could  be  estimated,  the  aspect  that 
assimilated  him  with  our  mortal  brotherhood.  But  yet,  in  some 
indescribable  way,  (as  is  the  case  with  all  that  has  deluded  us  when 
once  found  out,)  the  poor  reality  was  felt  beneath  the  cunning  artifice. 

"What  has  gone  wrong?"  demanded  the  witch.  "Did  yonder 
sniffling  hypocrite  thrust  my  darling  from  his  door?  The  villain! 
I  '11  set  twenty  fiends  to  torment  him  till  he  offer  thee  his  daughter 
on  his  bended  knees!" 

"No,  mother,"  said  Feathertop  despondingly;  "it  was  not  that." 

"Did  the  girl  scorn  my  precious  one?"  asked  Mother  Rigby, 
her  fierce  eyes  glowing  like  two  coals  of  Tophet.  "I  '11  cover  her 
face  with  pimples!  Her  nose  shall  be  as  red  as  the  coal  in  thy  pipe! 
Her  front  teeth  shall  drop  out!  In  a  week  hence  she  shall  not  be 
worth  thy  having!" 

"Let  her  alone,  mother,"  answered  poor  Feathertop;  "the  girl 
was  half  won;  and  methinks  a  kiss  from  her  sweet  lips  might  have 
made  me  altogether  human.  But,"  he  added,  after  a  brief  pause  and 
then  a  howl  of  self -contempt,  "I  Ve  seen  myself,  mother!  I  Ve  seen 
myself  for  the  wretched,  ragged,  empty  thing  I  am!  I  '11  exist  no 
longer!" 

Snatching  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  he  flung  it  with  all  his  might 
against  the  chimney,  and  at  the  same  instant  sank  upon  the  floor,  a 
medley  of  straw  and  tattered  garments,  with  some  sticks  protruding 
from  the  heap,  and  a  shrivelled  pumpkin  in  the  midst.  The  eyeholes 
were  now  lustreless;  but  the  rudely-carved  gap,  that  just  before  had 
been  a  mouth,  still  seemed  to  twist  itself  into  a  despairing  grin,  and 
was  so  far  human. 

"Poor  fellow!"  quoth  Mother  Rigby,  with  a  rueful  glance  at  the 
relics  of  her  ill-fated  contrivance.  "My  poor,  dear,  pretty  Feather- 
top!  There  are  thousands  upon  thousands  of  coxcombs  and  charla- 
tans in  the  world,  made  up  of  just  such  a  jumble  of  wornout,  forgotten, 


474  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  good-for-nothing  trash  as  he  was!  Yet  they  live  in  fair  repute, 
and  never  see  themselves  for  what  they  are.  And  why  should  my 
poor  puppet  be  the  only  one  to  know  himself  and  perish  for  it  ?  " 

While  thus  muttering,  the  witch  had  filled  a  fresh  pipe  of  tobacco, 
and  held  the  stem  between  her  fingers,  as  doubtful  whether  to  thrust 
it  into  her  own  mouth  or  Feathertop's. 

"Poor  Feathertop!"  she  continued.  "I  could  easily  give  him 
another  chance  and  send  him  forth  again  to-morrow.  But  no;  his 
feelings  are  too  tender,  his  sensibilities  too  deep.  He  seems  to  have 
too  much  heart  to  bustle  for  his  own  advantage  in  such  an  empty 
and  heartless  world.  Well!  well!  I  '11  make  a  scarecrow  of  him 
after  all.  'T  is  an  innocent  and  a  useful  vocation,  and  will  suit  my 
darling  well;  and,  if  each  of  his  human  brethren  had  as  fit  a  one, 
't  would  be  the  better  for  mankind;  and  as  for  this  pipe  of  tobacco, 
I  need  it  more  than  he." 

So  saying,  Mother  Rigby  put  the  stem  between  her  lips.  "Dick- 
on!" cried  she,  in  her  high,  sharp  tone,  "another  coal  for  my  pipe!" 


.      HENRY  D.  THOREAU 

FROM 

WALDEN 

WHERE  I  LIVED,   AND   WHAT  I  LIVED   FOR 

At  a  certain  season  of  our  life  we  are  accustomed  to  consider  every 
spot  as  the  possible  site  of  a  house.  I  have  thus  surveyed  the  country 
on  every  side  within  a  dozen  miles  of  where  I  live.  In  imagination 
I  have  bought  all  the  farms  in  succession,  for  all  were  to  be  bought, 
and  I  knew  their  price.  I  walked  over  each  farmer's  premises,  tasted 
his  wild  apples,  discoursed  on  husbandry  with  him,  took  his  farm  at 
his  price,  at  any  price,  mortgaging  it  to  him  in  my  mind;  even  put  a 
higher  price  on  it, — took  every  thing  but  a  deed  of  it, — took  his  word 
for  his  deed,  for  I  dearly  love  to  talk, — cultivated  it,  and  him  too  to 
some  extent,  I  trust,  and  withdrew  when  I  had  enjoyed  it  long  enough, 
leaving  him  to  carry  it  on.  This  experience  entitled  me  to  be  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  real-estate  broker  by  my  friends.  Wherever  I  sat,  there 
I  might  live  and  the  landscape  radiated  from  me  accordingly.  What 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  475 

is  a  house  but  a  sedes,  a  seat  ?: — better  if  a  country  seat.  I  discovered 
many  a  site  for  a  house  not  likely  to  be  soon  improved,  which  some 
might  have  thought  too  far  from  the  village,  but  to  my  eyes  the  village 
was  too  far  from  it.  Well,  there  I  might  live,  I  said;  and  there  I  did 
live,  for  an  hour,  a  summer  and  a  whiter  life ;  saw  how  I  could  let  the 
years  run  off,  buffet  the  winter  through,  and  see  the  spring  come  in. 
The  future  inhabitants  of  this  region,  wherever  they  may  place  their 
houses,  may  be  sure  that  they  have  been  anticipated.  An  afternoon 
sufficed  to  lay  out  the  land  into  orchard,  woodlot,  and  pasture,  and 
to  decide  what  fine  oaks  or  pines  should  be  left  to  stand  before  the 
door,  and  whence  each  blasted  tree  could  be  seen  to  the  best  advan- 
tage; and  then  I  let  it  lie,  fallow  perchance,  for  a  man  is  rich  ha  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  things  which  he  can  afford  to  let  alone. 

My  imagination  carried  me  so  far  that  I  even  had  the  refusal  of 
several  farms, — the  refusal  was  all  I  wanted, — but  I  never  got  my 
fingers  burned  by  actual  possession.  The  nearest  that  I  came  to 
actual  possession  was  when  I  bought  the  HoUowell  place,  and  had 
begun  to  sort  my  seeds,  and  collected  materials  with  which  to  make 
a  wheelbarrow  to  carry  it  on  or  off  with;  but  before  the  owner  gave 
me  a  deed  of  it,  his  wife — every  man  has  such  a  wife — changed  her 
mind  and  wished  to  keep  it,  and  he  offered  me  ten  dollars  to  release 
him.  Now,  to  speak  the  truth,  I  had  but  ten  cents  in  the  world,  and 
it  surpassed  my  arithmetic  to  tell,  if  I  was  that  man  who  had  ten 
cents,  or  who  had  a  farm,  or  ten  dollars,  or  all  together.  However, 
I  let  him  keep  the  ten  dollars  and  the  farm  too,  for  I  had  carried  it 
far  enough;  or  rather,  to  be  generous,  I  sold  him  the  farm  for  just 
what  I  gave  for  it,  and,  as  he  was  not  a  rich  man,  made  him  a  present 
of  ten  dollars,  and  still  had  my  ten  cents,  and  seeds,  and  materials 
for  a  wheelbarrow  left.  I  found  thus  that  I  had  been  a  rich  man 
without  any  damage  to  my  property.  But  I  retained  the  landscape, 
and  I  have  since  annually  carried  off  what  it  yielded  without  a  wheel- 
barrow. With  respect  to  landscapes, — 

"  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute." 

I  have  frequently  seen  a  poet  withdraw,  having  enjoyed  the  most 
valuable  part  of  a  farm,  while  the  crusty  farmer  supposed  that  he 
had  got  a  few  wild  apples  only.  Why,  the  owner  does  not  know  it 


476  AMERICAN  PROSE 


for  many  years  when  a  poet  has  put  his  farm  in  rhyme,  the  most 
admirable  kind  of  invisible  fence,  has  fairly  impounded  it,  milked  it, 
skimmed  it,  and  got  all  the  cream,  and  left  the  farmer  only  the 
skimmed  milk. 

The  real  attractions  of  the  Hollowell  farm,  to  me,  were:  its  com- 
plete retirement,  being  about  two  miles  from  the  village,  half  a  mile 
from  the  nearest  neighbor,  and  separated  from  the  highway  by  a 
broad  field;  its  bounding  on  the  river,  which  the  owner  said  pro- 
tected it  by  its  fogs  from  frosts  in  the  spring,  though  that  was  nothing 
to  me;  the  gray  color  and  ruinous  state  of  the  house  and  barn,  and 
the  dilapidated  fences,  which  put  such  an  interval  between  me  and 
the  last  occupant;  the  hollow  and  lichen-covered  apple  trees,  gnawed 
by  rabbits,  showing  what  kind  of  neighbors  I  should  have;  but  above 
all,  the  recollection  I  had  of  it  from  my  earliest  voyages  up  the  river, 
when  the  house  was  concealed  behind  a  dense  grove  of  red  maples, 
through  which  I  heard  the  house-dog  bark.  I  was  in  haste  to  buy  it, 
before  the  proprietor  finished  getting  out  some  rocks,  cutting  down 
the  hollow  apple  trees,  and  grubbing  up  some  young  birches  which 
had  sprung  up  in  the  pasture,  or,  in  short,  had  made  any  more  of  his 
improvements.  To  enjoy  these  advantages  I  was  ready  to  carry  it 
on;  like  Atlas,  to  take  the  world  on  my  shoulders, — I  never  heard 
what  compensation  he  received  for  that, — and  do  all  those  things 
which  had  no  other  motive  or  excuse  but  that  I  might  pay  for  it  and 
be  unmolested  in  my  possession  of  it ;  for  I  knew  all  the  while  that  it 
would  yield  the  most  abundant  crop  of  the  kind  I  wanted  if  I  could 
only  afford  to  let  it  alone.  But  it  turned  out  as  I  have  said. 

All  that  I  could  say,  then,  with  respect  to  farming  on  a  large 
scale,  (I  have  always  cultivated  a  garden,)  was,  that  I  had  had  my 
seeds  ready.  Many  think  that  seeds  improve  with  age.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  time  discriminates  between  the  good  and  the  bad;  and 
when  at  last  I  shall  plant,  I  shall  be  less  likely  to  be  disappointed. 
But  I  would  say -to  my  fellows,  once  for  all,  As  long  as  possible  live 
free  and  uncommitted.  It  makes  but  little  difference  whether  you 
are  committed  to  a  farm  or  the  county  jail. 

Old  Cato,  whose  "De  Re  Rustica"  is  my  "cultivator,"  says, 
and  the  only  translation  I  have  seen  makes  sheer  nonsense  of  the 
passage,  "When  you  think  of  getting  a  farm,  turn  it  thus  in  your 
mind,  not  to  buy  greedily;  nor  spare  your  pains  to  look  at  it,  and  do 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  477 

not  think  it  enough  to  go  round  it  once.  The  oftener  you  go  there 
the  more  it  will  please  you,  if  it  is  good."  I  think  I  shall  not  buy 
greedily,  but  go  round  and  round  it  as  long  as  I  live,  and  be  buried 
in  it  first,  that  it  may  please  me  the  more  at  last. 

The  present  was  my  next  experiment  of  this  kind,  which  I 
purpose  to  describe  more  at  length;  for  convenience,  putting 
the  experience  of  two  years  into  one.  As  I  have  said,  I  do  not 
propose  to  write  an  ode  to  dejection,  but  to  brag  as  lustily  as  chanti- 
cleer in  the  morning,  standing  on  his  roost,  if  only  to  wake  my 
neighbors  up. 

When  first  I  took  up  my  abode  in  the  woods,  that  is,  began  to 
spend  my  nights  as  well  as  days  there,  which,  by  accident,  was  on 
Independence  day,  or  the  fourth  of  July,  1845,  my  house  was  not 
finished  for  winter,  but  was  merely  a  defence  against  the  rain,  without 
plastering  or  chimney,  the  walls  being  of  rough  weather-stained 
boards,  with  wide  chinks,  which  made  it  cool  at  night.  The  upright 
white  hewn  studs  and  freshly  planed  door  and  window  casings  gave 
it  a  clean  and  airy  look,  especially  in  the  morning,  when  its  timbers 
were  saturated  with  dew,  so  that  I  fancied  that  by  noon  some  sweet 
gum  would  exude  from  them.  To  my  imagination  it  retained 
throughout  the  day  more  or  less  of  this  auroral  character,  reminding 
me  of  a  certain  house  on  a  mountain  which  I  had  visited  the  year 
before.  This  was  an  airy  and  unplastered  cabin,  fit  to  entertain  a 
travelling  god,  and  where  a  goddess  might  trail  her  garments.  The 
winds  which  passed  over  my  dwelling  were  such  as  sweep  over  the 
ridges  of  mountains,  bearing  the  broken  strains,  or  celestial  parts 
only,  of  terrestrial  music.  The  morning  wind  forever  blows,  the 
poem  of  creation  is  uninterrupted;  but  few  are  the  ears  that  hear  it. 
Olympus  is  but  the  outside  of  the  earth  every  where. 

The  only  house  I  had  been  the  owner  of  before,  if  I  except  a  boat, 
was  a  tent,  which  I  used  occasionally  when  making  excursions  in  the 
summer,  and  this  is  still  rolled  up  in  my  garret;  but  the  boat,  after 
passing  from  hand  to  hand,  has  gone  down  the  stream  of  time.  With 
this  more  substantial  shelter  about  me,  I  had  made  some  progress 
toward  settling  in  the  world.  This  frame,  so  slightly  clad,  was  a 
sort  of  crystallization  around  me,  and  reacted  on  the  builder.  It  was 
suggestive  somewhat  as  a  picture  in  outlines.  I  did  not  need  to  go 
out  doors  to  take  the  air,  for  the  atmosphere  within  had  lost  none  of 


478  AMERICAN  PROSE 


its  freshness.  It  was  not  so  much  within  doors  as  behind  a  door 
where  I  sat,  even  in  the  rainiest  weather.  The  Harivansa  says,  "An 
abode  without  birds  is  like  a  meat  without  seasoning."  Such  was 
not  my  abode,  for  I  found  myself  suddenly  neighbor  to  the  bird§; 
not  by  having  imprisoned  one,  but  having  caged  myself  near  them. 
I  was  not  only  nearer  to  some  of  those  which  commonly  frequent  the 
garden  and  the  orchard,  but  to  those  wilder  and  more  thrilling  song- 
sters of  the  forest  which  never,  or  rarely,  serenade  a  villager, — the 
wood-thrush,  the  veery,  the  scarlet  tanager,  the  field-sparrow,  the 
whippoorwill,  and  many  others. 

I  was  seated  by  the  shore  of  a  small  pond,  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  south  of  the  village  of  Concord  and  somewhat  higher  than  it,  in 
the  midst  of  an  extensive  wood  between  that  town  and  Lincoln,  and 
about  two  miles  south  of  that  our  only  field  known  to  fame,  Concord 
Battle  Ground;  but  I  was  so  low  in  the  woods  that  the  opposite  shore, 
half  a  mile  off,  like  the  rest,  covered  with  wood,  was  my  most 
distant  horizon.  For  the  first  week,  whenever  I  looked  out  on  the 
pond  it  impressed  me  like  a  tarn  high  up  on  the  side  of  a  mountain, 
its  bottom  far  above  the  surface  of  other  lakes,  and,  as  the  sun 
arose,  I  saw  it  throwing  off  its  nightly  clothing  of  mist,  and 
here  and  there,  by  degrees,  its  soft  ripples  or  its  smooth  reflecting 
surface  was  revealed,  while  the  mists,  like  ghosts,  were  stealthily 
withdrawing  in  every  direction  into  the  woods,  as  at  the  break- 
ing up  of  some  nocturnal  conventicle.  The  very  dew  seemed  to 
hang  upon  the  trees  later  into  the  day  than  usual,  as  on  the  sides  of 
mountains. 

This  small  lake  was  of  most  value  as  a  neighbor  in  the  intervals 
of  a  gentle  ram  storm  in  August,  when,  both  air  and  water  being  per- 
fectly still,  but  the  sky  overcast,  mid-afternoon  had  all  the  serenity 
of  evening,  and  the  wood-thrush  sang  around,  and  was  heard  from 
shore  to  shore.  A  lake  like  this  is  never  smoother  than  at  such  a 
time;  and  the  clear  portion  of  the  air  above  it  being  shallow  and 
darkened  by  clouds,  the  water,  full  of  light  and  reflections,  becomes 
a  lower  heaven  itself  so  much  the  more  important.  From  a  hill  top 
near  by,  where  the  wood  had  recently  been  cut  off,  there  was  a  pleas- 
ing vista  southward  across  the  pond,  through  a  wide  indentation  in 
the  hills  which  form  the  shore  there,  where  their  opposite  sides  sloping 
toward  each  other  suggested  a  stream  flowing  out  in  that  direction 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  479 

through  a  wooded  valley,  but  stream  there  was  none.  That  way  I 
looked  between  and  over  the  near  green  hills  to  some  distant  and 
higher  ones  in  the  horizon,  tinged  with  blue.  Indeed,  by  standing  on 
tiptoe  I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  some  of  the  peaks  of  the  still  bluer 
and  more  distant  mountain  ranges  in  the  north-west,  those  true-blue 
coins  from  heaven's  own  mint,  and  also  of  some  portion  of  the  village. 
But  hi  other  directions,  even  from  this  point,  I  could  not  see  over 
or  beyond  the  woods  which  surrounded  me.  It  is  well  to  have  some 
water  hi  your  neighborhood,  to  give  buoyancy  to  and  float  the  earth. 
One  value  even  of  the  smallest  well  is,  that  when  you  look  into  it 
you  see  that  earth  is  not  continent  but  insular.  This  is  as  important 
as  that  it  keeps  butter  cool.  When  I  looked  across  the  pond  from 
this  peak  toward  the  Sudbury  meadows,  which  hi  tune  of  flood  I 
distinguished  elevated  perhaps  by  a  mirage  hi  then-  seething  valley, 
like  a  coin  hi  a  basin,  all  the  earth  beyond  the  pond  appeared  like  a 
tlrn  crust  insulated  and  floated  even  by  this  small  sheet  of  inter- 
vening water,  and  I  was  reminded  that  this  on  which  I  dwelt  was 
but  dry  land. 

Though  the  view  from  my  door  was  still  more  contracted,  I  did 
not  feel  crowded  or  confined  hi  the  least.  There  was  pasture  enough 
for  my  imagination.  The  low  shrub-oak  plateau  to  which  the  oppo- 
site shore  arose,  stretched  away  toward  the  prairies  of  the  West  and 
the  steppes  of  Tartary,  affording  ample  room  for  all  the  roving 
families  of  men.  "There  are  none  happy  in  the  world  but  beings  who 
enjoy  freely  a  vast  horizon," — said  Damodara,  when  his  herds  re- 
quired new  and  larger  pastures. 

Both  place  and  time  were  changed,  and  I  dwelt  nearer  to  those 
parts  of  the  universe  and  to  those  eras  hi  history  which  had  most 
attracted  me.  Where  I  lived  was  as  far  off  as  many  a  region  viewed 
nightly  by  astronomers.  We  are  wont  to  imagine  rare  and  delectable 
places  in  some  remote  and  more  celestial  corner  of  the  system,  behind 
the  constellation  of  Cassiopeia's  Chair,  far  from  noise  and  disturbance. 
I  discovered  that  my  house  actually  had  its  site  in  such  a  withdrawn, 
but  forever  new  and  unprofaned,  part  of  the  universe.  If  it  were 
worth  the  while  to  settle  hi  those  parts  near  to  the  Pleiades  or  the 
Hyades,  to  Aldebaran  or  Altair,  then  I  was  really  there,  or  at  an 
equal  remoteness  from  the  life  which  I  had  left  behind,  dwindled  and 
twinkling  with  as  fine  a  ray  to  my  nearest  neighbor,  and  to  be  seen 


480  AMERICAN  PROSE 


only  in  moonless  nights  by  him.    Such  was  that  part  of  creation 
where  I  had  squatted: — 

"There  was  a  shepherd  that  did  live, 

And  held  his  thoughts  as  high 
As  were  the  mounts  whereon  his  flocks 
Did  hourly  feed  him  by." 

What  should  we  think  of  the  shepherd's  life  if  his  flocks  always  wan- 
dered to  higher  pastures  than  his  thoughts  ? 

Every  morning  was  a  cheerful  invitation  to  make  my  life  of  equal 
simplicity,  and  I  may  say  innocence,  with  Nature  herself.  I  have 
been  as  sincere  a  worshipper  of  Aurora  as  the  Greeks.  I  got  up  early 
and  bathed  in  the  pond;  that  was  a  religious  exercise,  and  one  of  the 
best  things  which  I  did.  They  say  that  characters  were  engraven  on 
the  bathing  tub  of  king  Tching-thang  to  this  effect:  "Renew  thyself 
completely  each  day;  do  it  again,  and  again,  and  forever  again." 
I  can  understand  that.  Morning  brings  back  the  heroic  ages.  I  was 
as  much  affected  by  the  faint  hum  of  a  mosquito  making  its  invisible 
and  unimaginable  tour  through  my  apartment  at  earliest  dawn,  when 
I  was  sitting  with  door  and  windows  open,  as  I  could  be  by  any  trum- 
pet that  ever  sang  of  fame.  It  was  Homer's  requiem;  itself  an  Iliad 
and  Odyssey  in  the  air,  singing  its  own  wrath  and  wanderings.  There 
was  something  cosmical  about  it;  a  standing  advertisement,  till  for- 
bidden, of  the  everlasting  vigor  and  fertility  of  the  world.  The  morn- 
ing, which  is  the  most  memorable  season  of  the  day,  is  the  awakening 
hour.  Then  there  is  least  somnolence  in  us;  and  for  an  hour,  at  least, 
some  part  of  us  awakes  which  slumbers  all  the  rest  of  the  day  and 
night.  Little  is  to  be  expected  of  that  day,  if  it  can  be  called  a  day, 
to  which  we  are  not  awakened  by  our  Genius,  but  by  the  mechanical 
nudgings  of  some  servitor,  are  not  awakened  by  our  own  newly- 
acquired  force  and  aspirations  from  within,  accompanied  by  the 
undulations  of  celestial  music,  instead  of  factory  bells,  and  a  fragrance 
filling  the  air — to  a  higher  life  than  we  fell  asleep  from;  and  thus  the 
darkness  bear  its  fruit,  and  prove  itself  to  be  good,  no  less  than  the 
light.  That  man  who  does  not  believe  that  each  day  contains  an 
earlier,  more  sacred,  and  auroral  hour  than  he  has  yet  profaned,  has 
despaired  of  life,  and  is  pursuing  a  descending  and  darkening  way. 
After  a  partial  cessation  of  his  sensuous  life,  the  soul  of  man,  or  its 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  481 

organs  rather,  are  reinvigorated  each  day,  and  his  Genius  tries  again 
what  noble  life  it  can  make.  All  memorable  events,  I  should  say, 
transpire  in  morning  time  and  in  a  morning  atmosphere.  ,The  Vedas 
say,  "All  intelligences  awake  with  the  morning."  Poetry  and  art, 
and  the  fairest  and  most  memorable  of  the  actions  of  men,  date  from 
such  an  hour.  All  poets  and  heroes,  like  Memnon,  are  the  children 
of  Aurora,  and  emit  their  music  at  sunrise.  To  him  whose  elastic 
and  vigorous  thought  keeps  pace  with  the  sun,  the  day  is  a  perpetual 
morning.  It  matters  not  what  the  clocks  say  or  the  attitudes  and 
labors  of  men.  Morning  is  when  I  am  awake  and  there  is  a  dawn  in 
me.  Moral  reform  is  the  effort  to  throw  off  sleep.  Why  is  it  that 
men  give  so  poor  an  account  of  their  day  if  they  have  not  been 
slumbering  ?  They  are  not  such  poor  calculators.  If  they  had  not 
been  overcome  with  drowsiness  they  would  have  performed  some- 
thing. The  millions  are  awake  enough  for  physical  labor;  but  only 
one  in  a  million  is  awake  enough  for  effective  intellectual  exertion, 
only  one  in  a  hundred  millions  to  a  poetic  or  divine  life.  To  be  awake 
is  to  be  alive.  I  have  never  yet  met  a  man  who  was  quite  awake. 
How  could  I  have  looked  him  in  the  face  ? 

We  must  learn  to  reawaken  and  keep  ourselves  awake,  not  by 
mechanical  aids,  but  by  an  infinite  expectation  of  the  dawn,  which 
does  not  forsake  us  in  our  soundest  sleep.  '  I  know  of  no  more  encour- 
aging fact  than  the  unquestionable  ability  of  man  to  elevate  his  life 
by  a  conscious  endeavor.  It  is  something  to  be  able  to  paint  a  par- 
ticular picture,  or  to  carve  a  statue,  and  so  to  make  a  few  objects 
beautiful;  but  it  is  far  more  glorious  to  carve  and  paint  the  very 
atmosphere  and  medium  through  which  we  look,  which  morally  we 
can  do.  To  effect  the  quality  of  the  day,  that  is  the  highest  of  arts. 
Every  man  is  tasked  to  make  his  life,  even  in  its  details,  worthy  of 
the  contemplation  of  his  most  elevated  and  critical  hour.  If  we 
refused,  or  rather  used  up,  such  paltry  information  as  we  get,  the 
oracles  would  distinctly  inform  us  how  this  might  be  done. 

I  went  to  the  woods  because  I  wished  to  live  deliberately,  to  front 
only  the  essential  facts  of  life,  and  see  if  I  could  not  learn  what  it 
had  to  teach,  and  not,  when  I  came  to  die,  discover  that  I  had  not 
lived.  I  did  not  wish  to  live  what  was  not  life,  living  is  so  dear;  nor 
did  I  wish  to  practise  resignation,  unless  it  was  quite  necessary.  I 
wanted  to  live  deep  and  suck  out  all  the  marrow  of  life,  to  live  so 


482  AMERICAN  PROSE 


sturdily  and  Spartan-like  as  to  put  to  rout  all  that  was  not  life,  to 
cut  a  broad  swath  and  shave  close,  to  drive  life  into  a  comer,  and 
reduce  it  to  its  lowest  terms,  and,  if  it  proved  to  be  mean,  why  then 
to  get  the  whole  and  genuine  meanness  of  it,  and  publish  its  meanness 
to  the  world;  or  if  it  were  sublime,  to  know  it  by  experience,  and  be 
able  to  give  a  true  account  of  it  hi  my  next  excursion.  For  most  men, 
it  appears  to  me,  are  in  a  strange  uncertainty  about  it,  whether  it 
is  of  the  devil  or  of  God,  and  have  somewhat  hastily  concluded  that  it 
is  the  chief  end  of  man  here  to  "glorify  God  and  enjoy  him  forever." 
Still  we  live  meanly,  like  ants;  though  the  fable  tells  us  that  we 
were  long  ago  changed  into  men;  like  pygmies  we  fight  with  cranes; 
it  is  error  upon  error,  and  clout  upon  clout,  and  our  best  virtue  has 
for  its  occasion  a  superfluous  and  evitable  wretchedness.  Our  life  is 
frittered  away  by  detail.  An  honest  man  has  hardly  need  to  count 
more  than  his  ten  fingers,  or  in  extreme  cases  he  may  add  his  ten 
toes,  and  lump  the  rest.  Simplicity,  simplicity,  simplicity!  I  say, 
let  your  affairs  be  as  two  or  three,  and  not  a  hundred  or  a  thousand; 
instead  of  a  million  count  half  a  dozen,  and  keep  your  accounts  on  your 
thumb  nail.  In  the  midst  of  this  chopping  sea  of  civilized  We,  such 
are  the  clouds  and  storms  and  quicksands  and  thousand-and-one 
items  to  be  allowed  for,  that  a  man  has  to  live,  if  he  would  not 
founder  and  go  to  the  bottom  and  not  make  his  port  at  all,  by  dead 
reckoning,  and  he  must  be  a  great  calculator  indeed  who  succeeds. 
Simplify,  simplify.  Instead  of  three  meals  a  day,  if  it  be  necessary 
eat  but  one;  instead  of  a  hundred  dishes,  five;  and  reduce  other 
things  hi  proportion.  Our  life  is  like  a  German  Confederacy,  made 
up  of  petty  states,  with  its  boundary  forever  fluctuating,  so  that  even 
a  German  cannot  tell  you  how  it  is  bounded  at  any  moment.  The 
nation  itself,  with  all  its  so  called  internal  improvements,  which,  by 
the  way,  are  all  external  and  superficial,  is  just  such  an  unwieldy  and 
overgrown  establishment,  cluttered  with  furniture  and  tripped  up  by 
its  own  traps,  ruined  by  luxury  and  heedless  expense,  by  want  of  cal- 
culation and  a  worthy  aim,  as  the  million  households  hi  the  land; 
and  the  only  cure  for  it  as  for  them  is  hi  a  rigid  economy,  a  stern  and 
more  than  Spartan  simplicity  of  life  and  elevation  of  purpose.  It 
lives  too  fast.  Men  think  that  it  is  essential  that  the  Nation  have 
commerce,  and  export  ice,  and  talk  through  a  telegraph,  and  ride 
thirty  miles  an  hour,  without  a  doubt,  whether  they  do  or  not;  but 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  483 

whether  we  should  live  like  baboons  or  like  men,  is  a  little  uncertain. 
If  we  do  not  get  out  sleepers,  and  forge  rails,  and  devote  days  and 
nights  to  the  work,  but  go  to  tinkering  upon  our  lives  to  improve 
them,  who  will  build  railroads  ?  And  if  railroads  are  not  built,  how 
shall  we  get  to  heaven  in  season  ?  But  if  we  stay  at  home  and  mind 
our  business,  who  will  want  railroads  ?  We  do  not  ride  on  the  rail- 
road; it  rides  upon  us.  Did  you  ever  think  what  those  sleepers  are 
that  underlie  the  railroad?  Each  one  is  a  man,  an  Irishman,  or  a 
Yankee  man.  The  rails  are  laid  on  them,  and  they  are  covered  with 
sand,  and  the  cars  run  smoothly  over  them.  They  are  sound  sleepers, 
I  assure  you .  And  every  few  years  a  new  lot  is  laid  down  and  run  over ; 
so  that,  if  some  have  the  pleasure  of  riding  on  a  rail,  others  have  the 
misfortune  to  be  ridden  upon.  And  when  they  run  over  a  man  that 
is  walking  in  his  sleep,  a  supernumerary  sleeper  in  the  wrong  position, 
and  wake  him  up,  they  suddenly  stop  the  cars,  and  make  a  hue  and 
cry  about  it,  as  if  this  were  an  exception.  I  am  glad  to  know  that  it 
takes  a  gang  of  men  for  every  five  miles  to  keep  the  sleepers  down 
and  level  in  their  beds  as  it  is,  for  this  is  a  sign  that  they  may  some- 
time get  up  again. 

Why  should  we  live  with  such  hurry  and  waste  of  life  ?  We  are 
determined  to  be  starved  before  we  are  hungry.  Men  say  that  a 
stitch  in  time  saves  nine,  and  so  they  take  a  thousand  stitches  to-day 
to  save  nine  to-morrow.  As  for  work,  we  haven't  any  of  any  conse- 
quence. We  have  the  Saint  Vitus'  dance,  and  cannot  possibly  keep 
our  heads  still.  If  I  should  only  give  a  few  pulls  at  the  parish  bell- 
rope,  as  for  a  fire,  that  is,  without  setting  the  bell,  there  is  hardly  a 
man  on  his  farm  in  the  outskirts  of  Concord,  notwithstanding  that 
press  of  engagements  which  was  his  excuse  so  many  times  this  morn- 
ing, nor  a  boy,  nor  a  woman,  I  might  almost  say,  but  would  forsake 
all  and  follow  that  sound,  not  mainly  to  save  property  from  the 
flames,  but,  if  we  will  confess  the  truth,  much  more  to  see  it  burn, 
since  burn  it  must,  and  we,  be  it  known,  did  not  set  it  on  fire, — or  to 
see  it  put  out,  and  have  a  hand  in  it,  if  that  is  done  as  handsomely; 
yes,  even  if  it  were  the  parish  church  itself.  Hardly  a  man  takes  a 
half  hour's  nap  after  dinner,  but  when  he  wakes  he  holds  up  his  head 
and  asks,  "What's  the  news?"  as  if  the  rest  of  mankind  had  stood 
his  sentinels.  Some  give  directions  to  be  waked  every  half  hour, 
doubtless  for  no  other  purpose;  and  then,  to  pay  for  it,  they  tell  what 


484  AMERICAN  PROSE 


they  have  dreamed.  After  a  night's  sleep  the  news  is  as  indispensable 
as  the  breakfast.  "Pray  tell  me  any  thing  new  that  has  happened 
to  a  man  any  where  on  this  globe," — and  he  reads  it  over  his  coffee 
and  rolls,  that  a  man  has  had  his  eyes  gouged  out  this  morning  on  the 
\Yachito  River;  never  dreaming  the  while  that  he  lives  in  the  dark 
unfathomed  mammoth  cave  of  this  world,  and  has  but  the  rudiment 
of  an  eye  himself. 

For  my  part,  I  could  easily  do  without  the  post-office.  I  think 
that  there  are  very  few  important  communications  made  through  it. 
To  speak  critically,  I  never  received  more  than  one  or  two  letters  in 
my  life — I  wrote  this  some  years  ago — that  were  worth  the  postage. 
The  penny-post  is,  commonly,  an  institution  through  which  you 
seriously  offer  a  man  that  penny  for  his  thoughts  which  is  so  often 
safely  offered  in  jest.  And  I  am  sure  that  I  never  read  any  memorable 
news  in  a  newspaper.  If  we  read  of  one  man  robbed,  or  murdered, 
or  killed  by  accident,  or  one  house  burned,  or  one  vessel  wrecked,  or 
one  steamboat  blown  up,  or  one  cow  run  over  on  the  Western  Railroad, 
or  one  mad  dog  killed,  or  one  lot  of  grasshoppers  hi  the  whiter, — we 
never  need  read  of  another.  One  is  enough.  If  you  are  acquainted 
with  the  principle,  what  do  you  care  for  a  myriad  instances  and  appli- 
cations ?  To  a  philosopher  all  news,  as  it  is  called,  is  gossip,  and  they 
who  edit  and  read  it  are  old  women  over  their  tea.  Yet  not  a  few 
are  greedy  after  this  gossip.  There  was  such  a  rush,  as  I  hear,  the 
other  day  at  one  of  the  offices  to  learn  the  foreign  news  by  the  last 
arrival,  that  several  large  squares  of  plate  glass  belonging  to  the  estab- 
lishment were  broken  by  the  pressure, — news  which  I  seriously  think 
a  ready  wit  might  write  a  twelvemonth  or  twelve  years  beforehand 
with  sufficient  accuracy.  As  for  Spain,  for  instance,  if  you  know  how 
to  throw  hi  Don  Carlos  and  the  Infanta,  and  Don  Pedro  and  Seville 
and  Granada,  from  time  to  time  hi  the  right  proportions, — they  may 
have  changed  the  names  a  little  since  I  saw  the  papers, — and  serve 
up  a  bull-fight  when  other  entertainments  fail,  it  will  be  true  to  the 
letter,  and  give  us  as  good  an  idea  of  the  exact  state  or  ruin  of  things 
in  Spain  as  the  most  succinct  and  lucid  reports  under  this  head  hi  the 
newspapers:  and  as  for  England,  almost  the  last  significant  scrap  of 
news  from  that  quarter  was  the  revolution  of  1649;  and  if  you  have 
learned  the  history  of  her  crops  for  an  average  year,  you  never  need 
attend  to  that  thing  again,  unless  your  speculations  are  of  a  merely 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  485 

pecuniary  character.  If  one  may  judge  who  rarely  looks  into  the 
newspapers,  nothing  new  does  ever  happen  in  foreign  parts,  a  French 
revolution  not  excepted. 

What  news!  how  much  more  important  to  know  what  that  is 
which  was  never  old!  "Kieou-he-yu  (great  dignitary  of  the  state  of 
Wei)  sent  a  man  to  Khoung-tseu  to  know  his  news.  Khoung-tseu- 
caused  the  messenger  to  be  seated  near  him,  and  questioned  him  in 
fhese  terms:  What  is  your  master  doing  ?  The  messenger  answered 
with  respect :  My  master  desires  to  diminish  the  number  of  his  faults, 
but  he  cannot  come  to  the  end  of  them.  The  messenger  being  gone, 
the  philosopher  remarked:  What  a  worthy  messenger!  What  a 
worthy  messenger!"  The  preacher,  instead  of  vexing  the  ears  of 
drowsy  farmers  on  then"  day  of  rest  at  the  end  of  the  week, — for 
Sunday  is  a  fit  conclusion  of  an  ill-spent  week,  and  not  the  fresh  and 
brave  beginning  of  a  new  one, — with  this  one  other  draggletail  of  a 
sermon,  should  shout  with  thundering  voice, — "Pause!  Avast! 
Why  so  seeming  fast,  but  deadly  slow  ?  " 

Shams  and  delusions  are  esteemed  for  soundest  truths,  while 
reality  is  fabulous.  If  men  would  steadily  observe  realities  only,  and 
not  allow  themselves  to  be  deluded,  life,  to  compare  it  with  such  things 
as  we  know,  would  be  like  a  fairy  tale  and  the  Arabian  Nights' 
Entertainments.  If  we  respected  only  what  is  inevitable  and  has  a 
right  to  be,  music  and  poetry  would  resound  along  the  streets.  When 
we  are  unhurried  and  wise,  we  perceive  that  only  great  and  worthy 
things  have  any  permanent  and  absolute  existence, — that  petty  fears 
and  petty  pleasures  are  but  the  shadow  of  the  reality.  This  is  always 
exhilarating  and  sublime.  By  closing  the  eyes  and  slumbering,  and 
consenting  to  be  deceived  by  shows,  men  establish  and  confirm  their 
daily  life  of  routine  and  habit  every  where,  which  still  is  built  on  purely 
illusory  foundations.  Children,  who  play  life,  discern  its  true  law 
and  relations  more  clearly  than  men,  who  fail  to  live  it  worthily,  but 
who  think  that  they  are  wiser  by  experience,  that  is,  by  failure.  I 
have  read  in  a  Hindoo  book,  that  "there  was  a  king's  son,  who,  being 
expelled  in  infancy  from  his  native  city,  was  brought  up  by  a  forester, 
and,  growing  up  to  maturity  in  that  state,  imagined  himself  to  belong 
to  the  barbarous  race  with  which  he  lived.  One  of  his  father's  minis- 
ters having  discovered  him,  revealed  to  him  what  he  was,  and  the 
misconception  of  his  character  was  removed,  and  he  knew  himself  to 


486  AMERICAN  PROSE 


be  a  prince.  So  soul,"  continues  the  Hindoo  philosopher,  "from  the 
circumstances  in  which  it  is  placed,  mistakes  its  own  character,  until 
the  truth  is  revealed  to  it  by  some  holy  teacher,  and  then  it  knows 
itself  to  be  Brahme."  I  perceive  that  we  inhabitants  of  New  England 
live  this  mean  life  that  we  do  because  our  vision  does  not  penetrate 
the  surface  of  things.  We  think  that  that  is  which  appears  to  be. 
If  a  man  should  walk  through  this  town  and  see  only  the  reality,  where, 
think  you,  would  the  "Mill-dam"  go  to?  If  he  should  give  us  an 
account  of  the  realities  he  beheld  there,  we  should  not  recognize  the 
place  in  his  description.  Look  at  a  meeting-house,  or  a  court-house, 
or  a  jail,  or  a  shop,  or  a  dwelling-house,  and  say  what  that  thing  really 
is  before  a  true  gaze,  and  they  would  all  go  to  pieces  in  your  account 
of  them.  Men  esteem  truth  remote,  in  the  outskirts  of  the  system, 
behind  the  farthest  star,  before  Adam  and  after  the  last  man.  In 
eternity  there  is  indeed  something  true  and  sublime.  But  all  these 
times  and  places  and  occasions  are  now  and  here.  God  Himself 
culminates  in  the  present  moment,  and  will  never  be  more  divine  in 
the  lapse  of  all  the  ages.  And  we  are  enabled  to  apprehend  at  all 
what  is  sublime  and  noble  only  by  the  perpetual  instilling  and  drench- 
ing of  the  reality  that  surrounds  us.  The  universe  constantly  and 
obediently  answers  to  our  conceptions;  whether  we  travel  fast  or 
slow,  the  track  is  laid  for  us.  Let  us  spend  our  lives  in  conceiving 
then.  The  poet  or  the  artist  never  yet  had  so  fair  and  noble  a  design 
but  some  of  his  posterity  at  least  could  accomplish  it. 

Let  us  spend  one  day  as  deliberately  as  Nature,  and  not  be  thrown 
off  the  track  by  every  nutshell  and  mosquito's  wing  that  falls  on  the 
rails.  Let  us  rise  early  and  fast,  or  break  fast,  gently  and  without 
perturbation;  let  company  come  and  let  company  go,  let  the  bells 
ring  and  the  children  cry, — determined  to  make  a  day  of  it.  Why 
should  we  knock  under  and  go  with  the  stream  ?  Let  us  not  be  upset 
and  overwhelmed  in  that  terrible  rapid  and  whirlpool  called  a  dinner, 
situated  in  the  meridian  shallows.  Weather  this  danger  and  you  are 
safe,  for  the  rest  of  the  way  is  down  hill.  With  unrelaxed  nerves, 
with  morning  vigor,  sail  by  it,  looking  another  way,  tied  to  the  mast 
like  Ulysses.  If  the  engine  whistles,  let  it  whistle  till  it  is  hoarse  for 
its  pains.  If  the  bell  rings,  why  should  we  run  ?  We  will  consider 
what  kind  of  music  they  are  like.  Let  us  settle  ourselves,  and  work 
and  wedge  our  feet  downward  through  the  mud  and  slush  of  opinion, 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  487 

and  prejudice,  and  tradition,  and  delusion,  and  appearance,  that 
alluvion  which  covers  the  globe,  through  Paris  and  London,  through 
New  York  and  Boston  and  Concord,  through  church  and  state, 
through  poetry  and  philosophy  and  religion,  till  we  come  to  a  hard 
bottom  and  rocks  in  place,  which  we  can  call  reality,  and  say,  This  is, 
and  no  mistake;  and  then  begin,  having  a  point  d'appui,  below  freshet 
and  frost  and  fire,  a  place  where  you  might  found  a  wall  or  a  state, 
or  set  a  lamp-post  safely,  or  perhaps  a  gauge,  not  a  Nilometer,  but  a 
Realometer,  that  future  ages  might  know  how  deep  a  freshet  of  shams 
and  appearances  had  gathered  from  time  to  time.  If  you  stand  right 
fronting  and  face  to  face  to  a  fact,  you  will  see  the  sun  glimmer  on 
both  its 'surfaces,  as  if  it  were  a  cimeter,  and  feel  its  sweet  edge 
dividing  you  through  the  heart  and  marrow,  and  so  you  will  happily 
conclude  your  mortal  career.  Be  it  life  or  death,  we  crave  only  reality. 
If  we  are  really  dying,  let  us  hear  the  rattle  in  our  throats  and  feel 
cold  in  the  extremities;  if  we  are  alive,  let  us  go  about  our  business. 
Time  is  but  the  stream  I  go  a-fishing  in.  I  drink  at  it ;  but  while 
I  drink  I  see  the  sandy  bottom  and  detect  how  shallow  it  is.  Its  thin 
current  slides'  away,  but  eternity  remains.  I  would  drink  deeper; 
fish  in  the  sky,  whose  bottom  is  pebbly  with  stars.  I  cannot  count 
one.  I  know  not  the  first  letter  of  the  alphabet.  I  have  always  been 
regretting  that  I  was  not  as  wise  as  the  day  I  was  born.  The  intellect 
is  a  cleaver;  it  discerns  and  rifts  its  way  into  the  secret  of  things. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  any  more  busy  with  my  hands  than  is  necessary. 
My  head  is  hands  and  feet.  I  feel  all  my  best  faculties  concentrated 
in  it.  My  instinct  tells  me  that  my  head  is  an  organ  for  burrowing, 
as  some  creatures  use  their  snout  and  fore-paws,  and  with  it  I  would 
mine  and  burrow  my  way  through  these  hills.  I  think  that  the  richest 
vein  is  somewhere  hereabouts;  so  by  the  divining  rod  and  thin  rising 
vapors  I  judge;  and  here  I  will  begin  to  mine. 

BRUTE   NEIGHBORS 

Sometimes  I  had  a  companion  in  my  fishing,  who  came  through 
the  village  to  my  house  from  the  other  side  of  the  town,  and  the 
catching  of  the  dinner  was  as  much  a  social  exercise  as  the  eating  of  it. 

Hermit.  I  wonder  what  the  world  is  doing  now.  I  have  not 
heard  so  much  as  a  locust  over  the  sweet-fern  these  three  hours.  The 
pigeons  are  all  asleep  upon  their  roosts, — no  flutter  from  them.  Was 


488  AMERICAN  PROSE 


that  a  farmer's  noon  horn  which  sounded  from  beyond  the  woods  just 
now?  The  hands  are  coming  hi  to  boiled  salt  beef  and  cider  and 
Indian  bread.  Why  will  men  worry  themselves  so  ?  He  that  does 
not  eat  need  not  work.  I  wonder  how  much  they  have  reaped.  Who 
would  live  there  where  a  body  can  never  think  for  the  barking  of 
Bose?  And  O,  the  housekeeping!  to  keep  bright  the  devil's  door- 
knobs, and  scour  his  tubs  this  bright  day!  Better  not  keep  a  house. 
Say,  some  hollow  tree;  and  then  for  morning  calls  and  dinner-parties! 
Only  a  wood-pecker  tapping.  O,  they  swarm;  the  sun  is  too  warm 
there;  they  are  born  too  far  into  life  for  me.  I  have  water  from  the 
spring,  and  a  loaf  of  brown  bread  on  the  shelf. — Hark!  I  hear  a 
rustling  of  the  leaves.  Is  it  some  ill-fed  village  hound  yielding  to  the 
instinct  of  the  chase  ?  or  the  lost  pig  which  is  said  to  be  in  these  woods, 
whose  tracks  I  saw  after  the  rain  ?  It  comes  on  apace;  my  sumachs 
and  sweet-briers  tremble. — Eh,  Mr.  Poet,  is  it  you?  How  do  you 
like  the  world  to-day  ? 

Poet.  See  those  clouds;  how  they  hang!  That's  the  greatest 
thing  I  have  seen  to-day.  There's  nothing  like  it  hi  old  paintings, 
nothing  like  it  hi  foreign  lands, — unless  when  we  were-  off  the  coast 
of  Spain.  That's  a  true  Mediterranean  sky.  I  thought,  as  I  have 
my  living  to  get,  and  have  not  eaten  to-day,  that  I  might  go  a-fishing. 
That's  the  true  industry  for  poets.  It  is  the  only  trade  I  have  learned. 
Come,  let's  along. 

Hermit.  I  cannot  resist.  My  brown  bread  will  soon  be  gone. 
I  will  go  with  you  gladly  soon,  but  I  am  just  concluding  a  serious 
meditation.  I  think  that  I  am  near  the  end  of  it.  Leave  me  alone, 
then,  for  a  while.  But  that  we  may  not  be  delayed,  you  shall  be 
digging  the  bait  meanwhile.  Angle-worms  are  rarely  to  be  met  with 
in  these  parts,  where  the  soil  was  never  fattened  with  manure;  the 
race  is  nearly  extinct.  The  sport  of  digging  the  bait  is  nearly  equal 
to  that  of  catching  the  fish,  when  one's  appetite  is  not  too  keen;  and 
this  you  may  have  all  to  yourself  to-day.  I  would  advise  you  to  set 
in  the  spade  down  yonder  among  the  ground-nuts,  where  you  see  the 
johnswort  waving.  I  think  that  I  may  warrant  you  one  worm  to 
every  three  sods  you  turn  up,  if  you  look  well  in  among  the  roots  of 
the  grass,  as  if  you  were  weeding.  Or,  if  you  choose  to  go  farther, 
it  will  not  be  unwise,  for  I  have  found  the  increase  of  fair  bait  to  be 
very  nearly  as  the  squares  of  the  distances. 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  489 

Hermit  alone.  Let  me  see;  where  was  I?  Methinks  I  was 
nearly  in  this  frame  of  mind;  the  world  lay  about  at  this  angle.  Shall 
I  go  to  heaven  or  a-fishing  ?  If  I  should  soon  bring  this  meditation 
to  an  end,  would  another  so  sweet  occasion  be  likely  to  offer  ?  I  was 
as  near  being  resolved  into  the  essence  of  things  as  ever  I  was  in  my 
life.  I  fear  my  thoughts  will  not  come  back  to  me.  If  it  would  do 
any  good,  I  would  whistle  for  them.  When  they  make  us  an  offer, 
is  it  wise  to  say,  We  will  think  of  it  ?  My  thoughts  have  left  no  track, 
and  I  cannot  find  the  path  again.  What  was  it  that  I  was  thinking 
of  ?  It  was  a  very  hazy  day.  I  will  just  try  these  three  sentences 
of  Con-fut-see;  they  may  fetch  that  state  about  again.  I  know  not 
whether  it  was  the  dumps  or  a  budding  ecstasy.  Mem.  There  never 
is  but  one  opportunity  of  a  kind. 

Poet.  How  now,  Hermit,  is  it  too  soon  ?  I  have  got  just  thirteen 
whole  ones,  besides  several  which  are  imperfect  or  undersized;  but 
they  will  do  for  the  smaller  fry;  they  do  not  cover  up  the  hook  so 
much.  Those  village  worms  are  quite  too  large;  a  shiner  may  make 
a  meal  off  one  without  finding  the  skewer. 

Hermit.  Well,  then,  let's  be  off.  Shall  we  to  the  Concord? 
There's  good  sport  there  if  the  water  be  not  too  high. 

Why  do  precisely  these  objects  which  we  behold  make  a  world  ? 
Why  has  man  just  these  species  of  animals  for  his  neighbors;  as  if 
nothing  but  a  mouse  could  have  filled  this  crevice  ?  I  suspect  that 
Pilpay  &  Co.  have  put  animals  to  their  best  use,  for  they  are  all  beasts 
of  burden,  hi  a  sense,  made  to  carry  some  portion  of  our  thoughts. 

The  mice  which  haunted  my  house  were  not  the  common  ones, 
which  are  said  to  have  been  introduced  into  the  country,  but  a  wild 
native  kind  not  found  in  the  village.  I  sent  one  to  a  distinguished 
naturalist,  and  it  interested  him  much.  When  I  was  building,  one 
of  these  had  its  nest  underneath  the  house,  and  before  I  had  laid  the 
second  floor,  and  swept  out  the  shavings,  would  come  out  regularly 
at  lunch  time  and  pick  up  the  crumbs  at  my  feet.  It  probably  had 
never  seen  a  man  before ;  and  it  soon  became  quite  familiar,  and  would 
run  over  my  shoes  and  up  my  clothes.  It  could  readily  ascend  the 
sides  of  the  room  by  short  impulses,  like  a  squirrel,  which  it  resembled 
in  its  motions.  At  length,  as  I  leaned  with  my  elbow  on  the  bench 
one  day,  it  ran  up  my  clothes,  and  along  my  sleeve,  and  round  and 


4QO  AMERICAN  PROSE 


round  the  paper  which  held  my  dinner,  while  I  kept  the  latter  close, 
and  dodged  and  played  at  bo-peep  with  it;  and  when  at  last  I  held 
still  a  piece  of  cheese  between  my  thumb  and  finger,  it  came  and 
nibbled  it,  sitting  in  my  hand,  and  afterward  cleaned  its  face  and 
paws,  like  a  fly,  and  walked  away. 

A  phcebe  soon  built  in  my  shed,  and  a  robin  for  protection  in  a 
pine  which  grew  against  the  house.  In  June  the  partridge,  (Tetrao 
urnbellus,)  which  is  so  shy  a  bird,  led  her  brood  past  my  windows, 
from  the  woods  in  the  rear  to  the  front  of  my  house,  clucking  and 
calling  to  them  like  a  hen,  and  in  all  her  behavior  proving  herself  the 
hen  of  the  woods.  The  young  suddenly  disperse  on  your  approach, 
at  a  signal  from  the  mother,  as  if  a  whirlwind  had  swept  them  away, 
and  they  so  exactly  resemble  the  dried  leaves  and  twigs  that  many 
a  traveller  has  placed  his  foot  in  the  midst  of  a  brood,  and  heard  the 
whir  of  the  old  bird  as  she  flew  off,  and  her  anxious  calls  and  mewing, 
or  seen  her  trail  her  wings  to  attract  his  attention,  without  suspecting 
their  neighborhood.  The  parent  will  sometimes  roll  and  spin  round 
before  you  in  such  a  dishabille,  that  you  cannot,  for  a  few  moments, 
detect  what  kind  of  creature  it  is.  The  young  squat  still  and  flat, 
often  running  their  heads  under  a  leaf,  and  mind  only  their  mother's 
directions  given  from  a  distance,  nor  will  your  approach  make  them 
run  again  and  betray  themselves.  You  may  even  tread  on  them,  or 
have  your  eyes  on  them  for  a  minute,  without  discovering  them. 
I  have  held  them  in  my  open  hand  at  such  a  time,  and  still  their  only 
care,  obedient  to  their  mother  and  their  instinct,  was  to  squat  there 
without  fear  or  trembling.  So  perfect  is  this  instinct,  that  once, 
when  I  had  laid  them  on  the  leaves  again,  and  one  accidentally  fell 
on  its  side,  it  was  found  with  the  rest  in  exactly  the  same  position 
ten  minutes  afterward.  They  are  not  callow  like  the  young  of  most 
birds,  but  more  perfectly  developed  and  precocious  even  than 
chickens.  The  remarkably  adult  yet  innocent  expression  of  their 
open  and  serene  eyes  is  very  memorable.  All  intelligence  seems 
reflected  in  them.  They  suggest  not  merely  the  purity  of  infancy, 
but  a  wisdom  clarified  by  experience.  Such  an  eye  was  not  born 
when  the  bird  was,  but  is  coeval  with  the  sky  it  reflects.  The  woods 
do  not  yield  another  such  a  gem.  The  traveller  does  not  often  look 
into  such  a  limpid  well.  The  ignorant  or  reckless  sportsman  often 
shoots  the  parent  at  such  a  time,  and  leaves  these  innocents  to  fall 


HENRY  D.  THOR&AU  49 1 

a  prey  to  some  prowling  beast  or  bird,  or  gradually  mingle  with  the 
decaying  leaves  which  they  so  much  resemble.  It  is  said  that  when 
hatched  by  a  hen  they  will  directly  disperse  on  some  alarm,  and  so 
are  lost,  for  they  never  hear  the  mother's  call  which  gathers  them 
again.  These  were  my  hens  and  chickens. 

It  is  remarkable  how  many  creatures  live  wild  and  free  though 
secret  in  the  woods,  and  still  sustain  themselves  in  the  neighborhood 
of  towns,  suspected  by  hunters  only.  How  retired  the  otter  manages 
to  live  here!  He  grows  to  be  four  feet  long,  as  big  as  a  small  boy, 
perhaps  without  any  human  being  getting  a  glimpse  of  him.  I 
formerly  saw  the  raccoon  in  the  woods  behind  where  my  house  is 
built,  and  probably  still  heard  their  whinnering  at  night.  Commonly 
I  rested  an  hour  or  two  in  the  shade  at  noon,  after  planting,  and  ate 
my  lunch,  and  read  a  little  by  a  spring  which  was  the  source  of  a 
swamp  and  of  a  brook,  oozing  from  under  Brister's  Hill,  half  a  mile 
from  my  field.  The  approach  to  this  was  through  a  succession  of 
descending  grassy  hollows,  full  of  young  pitch-pines,  into  a  larger  wood 
about  the  swamp.  There,  in  a  very  secluded  and  shaded  spot,  under 
a  spreading  white-pine,  there  was  yet  a  clean  firm  sward  to  sit  on. 
I  had  dug  out  the  spring  and  made  a  well  of  clear  gray  water,  where 
I  could  dip  up  a  pailful  without  roiling  it,  and  thither  I  went  for 
this  purpose  almost  every  day  in  midsummer,  when  the  pond  was 
warmest.  Thither  too  the  wood-cock  led  her  brood,  to  probe  the 
mud  for  worms,  flying  but  a  foot  above  them  down  the  bank,  while 
they  ran  in  a  troop  beneath;  but  at  last,  spying  me,  she  would  leave 
her  young  and  circle  round  and  round  me,  nearer  and  nearer  till  within 
four  or  five  feet,  pretending  broken  wings  and  legs,  to  attract  my 
attention,  and  get  off  her  young,  who  would  already  have  taken  up 
their  march,  with  faint  wiry  peep,  single  file  through  the  swamp,  as 
she  directed.  Or  I  heard  the  peep  of  the  young  when  I.  could  not 
see  the  parent  bird.  There  too  the  turtle-doves  sat  over'  the  spring, 
or  fluttered  from  bough  to  bough  of  the  soft  white-pines  over  my 
head;  or  the  red  squirrel,  coursing  down  the  nearest  bough,  was 
particularly  familiar  and  inquisitive.  You  only  need  sit  still  long 
enough  in  some  attractive  spot  in  the  woods  that  all  its  inhabitants 
may  exhibit  themselves  to  you  by  turns. 

I  was  witness  to  events  of  a  less  peaceful  character.  One  day 
when  I  went  out  to  my  wood-pile,  or  rather  my  pile  of  stumps,  I 


492  AMERICAN  PROSE 


observed  two  large  ants,  the  one  red,  the  other  much  larger,  nearly 
half  an  inch  long,  and  black,  fiercely  contending  with  one  another. 
Having  once  got  hold  they  never  let  go,  but  struggled  and  wrestled 
and  rolled  on  the  chips  incessantly.  Looking  farther,  I  was  surprised 
to  find  that  the  chips  were  covered  with  such  combatants,  that  it 
was  not  a  duellum,  but  a  bellum,  a  war  between  two  races  of  ants,  the 
red  always  pitted  against  the  black,  and  frequently  two  red  ones  to 
one  black.  The  legions  of  these  Myrmidons  covered  all  the  hills 
and  vales  in  my  wood-yard,  and  the  ground  was  already  strewn  with 
the  dead  and  dying,  both  red  and  black.  It  was  the  only  battle 
which  I  have  ever  witnessed,  the  only  battle-field  I  ever  trod  while 
the  battle  was  raging;  internecine  war;  the  red  republicans  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  black  imperialists  on  the  other.  On  every  side 
they  were  engaged  in  deadly  combat,  yet  without  any  noise  that  I 
could  hear,  and  human  soldiers  never  fought  so  resolutely.  I  watched 
a  couple  that  were  fast  locked  in  each  other's  embraces,  in  a  little 
sunny  valley  amid  the  chips,  now  at  noon-day  prepared  to  fight  till 
the  sun  went  down,  or  life  went  out.  The  smaller  red  champion  had 
fastened  himself  like  a  vice  to  his  adversary's  front,  and  through  all 
the  tumblings  on  that  field  never  for  an  instant  ceased  to  gnaw  at 
one  of  his  feelers  near  the  root,  having  already  caused  the  other  to 
go  by  the  board;  while  the  stronger  black  one  dashed  him  from  side 
to  side,  and,  as  I  saw  on  looking  nearer,  had  already  divested  him  of 
several  of  his  members.  They  fought  with  more  pertinacity  than 
bull-dogs.  Neither  manifested  the  least  disposition  to  retreat.  It 
was  evident  that  their  battle-cry  was  Conquer  or  die.  In  the  mean 
while  there  came  along  a  single  red  ant  on  the  hill-side  of  this  valley, 
evidently  full  of  excitement,  who  either  had  despatched  his  foe,  or 
had  not  yet  taken  part  in  the  battle;  probably  the  latter,  for  he  had 
lost  none  of  his  limbs;  whose  mother  had  charged  him  to  return  with 
his  shield  or  upon  it.  Or  perchance  he  was  some  Achilles,  who  had 
nourished  his  wrath  apart,  and  had  now  come  to  avenge  or  rescue 
his  Patroclus.  He  saw  this  unequal  combat  from  afar, — for  the 
blacks  were  nearly  twice  the  size  of  the  red, — he  drew  near  with  rapid 
pace  till  he  stood  on  his  guard  within  half  an  inch  of  the  combatants; 
then,  watching  his  opportunity,  he  sprang  upon  the  black  warrior,  and 
commenced  his  operations  near  the  root  of  his  right  fore-leg,  leaving 
the  foe  to  select  among  his  own  members;  and  so  there  were  three 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  493 

united  for  life,  as  if  a  new  kind  of  attraction  had  been  invented  which 
put  all  other  locks  and  cements  to  shame.  I  should  not  have  won- 
dered by  this  time  to  find  that  they  had  their  respective  musical  bands 
stationed  on  some  eminent  chip,  and  playing  their  national  airs  the 
while,  to  excite  the  slow  and  cheer  the  dying  combatants.  I  was 
myself  excited  somewhat  even  as  if  they  had  been  men.  The  more 
you  think  of  it,  the  less  the  difference.  And  certainly  there  is  not 
the  fight  recorded  in  Concord  history,  at  least,  if  in  the  history  of 
America,  that  will  bear  a  moment's  comparison  with  this,  whether 
for  the  numbers  engaged  in  it,  or  for  the  patriotism  and  heroism 
displayed.  For  numbers  and  for  carnage  it  was  an  Austerlitz  or 
Dresden.  Concord  Fight!  Two  killed  on  the  patriots'  side,  and 
Luther  Blanchard  wounded!  Why  here  every  ant  was  a  Buttrick, — 
"Fire!  for  God's  sake  fire!" — and  thousands  shared  the  fate  of  Davis 
and  Hosmer.  There  was  not  one  hireling  there.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  it  was  a  principle  they  fought  for,  as  much  as  our  ancestors,  and 
not  to  avoid  a  three-penny  tax  on  their  tea;  and  the  results  of  this 
battle  will  be  as  important  and  memorable  to  those  whom  it  concerns 
as  those  of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  at  least. 

I  took  up  the  chip  on  which  the  three  I  have  particularly  described 
were  struggling,  carried  it  into  my  house,  and  placed  it  under  a  tum- 
bler on  my  window-sill,  in  order  to  see  the  issue.  Holding  a  micro- 
scope to  the  first-mentioned  red  ant,  I  saw  that,  though  he  was 
assiduously  gnawing  at  the  near  fore-leg  of  his  enemy,  having  severed 
his  remaining  feeler,  his  own  breast  was  all  torn  away,  exposing  what 
vitals  he  had  there  to  the  jaws  of  the  black  warrior,  whose  breastplate 
was  apparently  too  thick  for  him  to  pierce;  and  the  dark  carbuncles 
of  the  sufferer's  eyes  shone  with  ferocity  such  as  war  only  could  excite. 
They  struggled  half  an  hour  longer  under  the  tumbler,  and  when  I 
looked  again  the  black  soldier  had  severed  the  heads  of  his  foes  from 
their  bodies,  and  the  still  living  heads  were  hanging  on  either  side  of 
him  like  ghastly  trophies  at  his  saddle-bow,  still  apparently  as  firmly 
fastened  as  ever,  and  he  was  endeavoring  with  feeble  struggles,  being 
without  feelers  and  with  only  the  remnant  of  a  leg,  and  I  know  not 
how  many  other  wounds,  to  divest  himself  of  them;  which  at  length, 
after  half  an  hour  more,  he  accomplished.  I  raised  the  glass,  and 
he  went  off  over  the  window-sill  in  that  crippled  state.  Whether  he 
finally  survived  that  combat,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days 


494  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  some  Hotel  des  Invalides,  I  do  not  know;  but  I  thought  that  his 
industry  would  not  be  worth  much  thereafter.  I  never  learned  which 
party  was  victorious,  nor  the  cause  of  the  war;  but  I  felt  for  the  rest 
of  that  day  as  if  I  had  had  my  feelings  excited  and  harrowed  by  wit- 
nessing the  struggle,  the  ferocity  and  carnage,  of  a  human  battle 
before  my  door. 

Kirby  and  Spence  tell  us  that  the  battles  of  ants  have  long  been 
celebrated  and  the  date  of  them  recorded,  though  they  say  that 
Huber  is  the  only  modern  author  who  appears  to  have  witnessed 
them.  "y£neas  Sylvius,"  say  they,  "after  giving  a  very  circum- 
stantial account  of  one  contested  with  great  obstinacy  by  a  great  and 
small  species  on  the  trunk  of  a  pear  tree,"  adds  that  "'This  action 
was  fought  in  the  pontificate  of  Eugenius  the  Fourth,  in  the  presence 
of  Nicholas  Pistoriensis,  an  eminent  lawyer,  who  related  the  whole 
history  of  the  battle  with  the  greatest  fidelity.'  A  similar  engage- 
ment between  great  and  small  ants  is  recorded  by  Olaus  Magnus, 
in  which  the  small  ones,  being  victorious,  are  said  to  have  buried  the 
bodies  of  their  own  soldiers,  but  left  those  of  their  giant  enemies  a 
prey  to  the  birds.  This  event  happened  previous  to  the  expulsion  of 
the  tyrant  Christiern  the  Second  from  Sweden."  The  battle  which 
I  witnessed  took  place  in  the  Presidency  of  Polk,  five  years  before 
the  passage  of  Webster's  Fugitive-Slave  Bill. 

Many  a  village  Bose,  fit  only  to  course  a  mud- turtle  in  a  victual- 
ling cellar,  sported  his  heavy  quarters  in  the  woods,  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  master,  and  ineffectually  smelled  at  old  fox  burrows  and 
woodchucks'  holes;  led  perchance  by  some  slight  cur  which  nimbly 
threaded  the  wood,  and  might  still  inspire  a  natural  terror  in  its 
denizens; — now  far  behind  his  guide,  barking  like  a  canine  bull  toward 
some  small  squirrel  which  had  treed  itself  for  scrutiny,  then,  cantering 
off,  bending  the  bushes  with  his  weight,  imagining  that  he  is  on  the 
track  of  some  stray  member  of  the  jerbUla  family.  Once  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  a  cat  walking  along  the  stony  shore  of  the  pond,  for  they 
rarely  wander  so  far  from  home.  The  surprise  was  mutual.  Never- 
theless the  most  domestic  cat,  which  has  lain  on  a  rug  all  her  days, 
appears  quite  at  home  in  the  woods,  and,  by  her  sly  and  stealthy 
behavior,  proves  herself  more  native  there  than  the  regular  inhabit- 
ants. Once,  when  berrying,  I  met  with  a  cat  with  young  kittens  hi 
the  woods,  quite  wild,  and  they  all,  like  their  mother1,  had  their  backs 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  495 

up  and  were  fiercely  spitting  at  me.  A  few  years  before  I  lived  in 
the  woods  there  was  what  was  called  a  "winged  cat"  in  one  of  the 
farm-houses  in  Lincoln  nearest  the  pond,  Mr.  Gilian  Baker's.  When 
I  called  to  see  her  in  June,  1842,  she  was  gone  a-hunting  in  the  woods, 
as  was  her  wont,  (I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  a  male  or  female,  and 
so  use  the  more  common  pronoun,)  but  her  mistress  told  me  that  she 
came  into  the  neighborhood  a  little  more  than  a  year  before,  in 
April,  and  was  finally  taken  into  their  house ;  that  she  was  of  a  dark 
brownish-gray  color,  with  a  white  spot  on  her  throat,  and  white  feet, 
and  had  a  large  bushy  tail  like  a  fox;  that  in  the  winter  the  fur  grew 
thick  and  flatted  out  along  her  sides,  forming  strips  ten  or  twelve 
inches  long  by  two  and  a  half  wide,  and  under  her  chin  like  a  muff, 
the  upper  side  loose,  the  under  matted  like  felt,  and  in  the  spring 
these  appendages  dropped  off.  They  gave  me  a  pair  of  her  "wings," 
which  I  keep  still.  There  is  no  appearance  of  a  membrane  about 
them.  Some  thought  it  was  part  flying-squirrel  or  some  other  wild 
animal,  which  is  not  impossible,  for,  according  to  naturalists,  prolific 
hybrids  have  been  produced  by  the  union  of  the  marten  and  domestic 
cat.  This  would  have  been  the  right  kind  of  cat  for  me  to  keep,  if 
I  had  kept  any;  for  why  should  not  a  poet's  cat  be  winged  as  well 
as  his  horse  ? 

In  the  fall  the  loon  (Colymbus  glacialis)  came,  as  usual,  to  moult 
and  bathe  in  the  pond,  making  the  woods  ring  with  his  wild  laughter 
before  I  had  risen.  At  rumor  of  his  arrival  all  the  Mill-dam  sports- 
men are  on  the  alert,  hi  gigs  and  on  foot,  two  by  two  and  three  by 
three,  with  patent  rifles  and  conical  balls  and  spy-glasses.  They 
come  rustling  through  the  woods  like  autumn  leaves,  at  least  ten 
men  to  one  loon.  Some  station  themselves  on  this  side  of  the  pond, 
some  on  that,  for  the  poor  bird  cannot  be  omnipresent;  if  he  dive 
here  he  must  come  up  there.  But  now  the  kind  October  wind  rises, 
rustling  the  leaves  and  rippling  the  surface  of  the  water,  so  that  no 
loon  can  be  heard  or  seen,  though  his  foes  sweep  the  pond  with  spy- 
glasses, and  make  the  woods  resound  with  their  discharges.  The 
waves  generously  rise  and  dash  angrily,  taking  sides  with  all  water- 
fowl, and  our  sportsmen  must  beat  a  retreat  to  town  and  shop  and 
unfinished  jobs.  But  they  were  too  often  successful.  When  I  went 
to  get  a  pail  of  water  early  in  the  morning  I  frequently  saw  this  stately 
bird  sailing  out  of  my  cove  within  a  few  rods.  If  I  endeavored  to 


496  AMERICAN  PROSE 


overtake  him  in  a  boat,  in  order  to  see  how  he  would  manoeuvre,  he 
would  dive  and  be  completely  lost,  so  that  I  did  not  discover  him 
again,  sometimes,  till  the  latter  part  of  the  day.  But  I  was  more 
than  a  match  for  him  on  the  surface.  He  commonly  went  off  in  a  rain. 
As  I  was  paddling  along  the  north  shore  one  very  calm  October 
afternoon,  for  such  days  especially  they  settle  on  to  the  lakes,  like 
the  milkweed  down,  having  looked  in  vain  over  the  pond  for  a  loon, 
suddenly  one,  sailing  out  from  the  shore  toward  the  middle  a  few 
rods  in  front  of  me,  set  up  his  wild  laugh  and  betrayed  himself.  I 
pursued  with  a  paddle  and  he  dived,  but  when  he  came  up  I  was 
nearer  than  before.  He  dived  again,  but  I  miscalculated  the  direc- 
tion he  would  take,  and  we  were  fifty  rods  apart  when  he  came  to 
the  surface  this  time,  for  I  had  helped  to  widen  the  interval;  and 
again  he  laughed  long  and  loud,  and  with  more  reason  than  before. 
He  manoeuvred  so  cunningly  that  I  could  not  get  within  half  a  dozen 
rods  of  him.  Each  time,  when  he  came  to  the  surface,  turning  his 
head  this  way  and  that,  he  coolly  surveyed  the  water  and  the  land,  and 
apparently  chose  his  course  so  that  he  might  come  up  where  there  was 
the  widest  expanse  of  water  and  at  the  greatest  distance  from  the  boat. 
It  was  surprising  how  quickly  he  made  up  his  mind  and  put  his 
resolve  into  execution.  He  led  me  at  once  to  the  widest  part  of  the 
pond,  and  could  not  be  driven  from  it.  While  he  was  thinking  one 
thing  in  his  brain,  I  was  endeavoring  to  divine  his  thought  in  mine. 
It  was  a  pretty  game,  played  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  pond,  a 
man  against  a  loon.  Suddenly  your  adversary's  checker  disappears 
beneath  the  board,  and  the  problem  is  to  place  yours  nearest  to  where 
his  will  appear  again.  Sometimes  he  would  come  up  unexpectedly 
on  the  opposite  side  of  me,  having  apparently  passed  directly  under 
the  boat.  So  long-winded  was  he  and  so  unweariable,  that  when  he 
had  swum  farthest  he  would  immediately  plunge  again,  nevertheless; 
and  then  no  wit  could  divine  where  in  the  deep  pond,  beneath  the 
smooth  surface,  he  might  be  speeding  his  way  like  a  fish,  for  he  had 
time  and  ability  to  visit  the  bottom  of  the  pond  in  its  deepest  part. 
It  is  said  that  loons  have  been  caught  in  the  New  York  lakes  eighty 
feet  beneath  the  surface,  with  hooks  set  for  trout, — though  Walden 
is  deeper  than  that.  How  surprised  must  the  fishes  be  to  see  this 
ungainly  visitor  from  another  sphere  speeding  his  way  amid  their 
schools!  Yet  he  appeared  to  know  his  course  as  surely  under  water 


HENRY  D.  THOREAU  497 

as  on  the  surface,  and  swam  much  faster  there.  Once  or  twice  I  saw 
a  ripple  where  he  approached  the  surface,  just  put  his  head  out  to 
reconnoitre,  and  instantly  dived  again.  I  found  that  it  was  as  well 
for  me  to  rest  on  my  oars  and  wait  his  reappearing  as  to  endeavor  to 
calculate  where  he  would  rise;  for  again  and  again,  when  I  was 
straining  my  eyes  over  the  surface  one  way,  I  would  suddenly  be 
startled  by  his  unearthly  laugh  behind  me.  But  why,  after  displaying 
so  much  cunning,  did  he  invariably  betray  himself  the  moment  he 
came  up  by  that  loud  laugh?  Did  not  his  white  breast  enough 
betray  him  ?  He  was  indeed  a  silly  loon,  I  thought.  I  could  com- 
monly hear  the  plash  of  the  water  when  he  came  up,  and  so  also 
detected  him.  But  after  an  hour  he  seemed  as  fresh  as  ever,  dived 
as  willingly  and  swam  yet  farther  than  at  first.  It  was  surprising  to 
see  how  serenely  he  sailed  off  with  unruffled  breast  when  he  came 
to  the  surface,  doing  all  the  work  with  his  webbed  feet  beneath.  His 
usual  note  was  this  demoniac  laughter,  yet  somewhat  like  that  of  a 
water-fowl;  but  occasionally,  when  he  had  balked  me  most  success- 
fully and  come  up  a  long  way  off,  he  uttered  a  long-drawn  unearthly 
howl,  probably  more  like  that  of  a  wolf  than  any  bird;  as  when  a 
beast  puts  his  muzzle  to  the  ground  and  deliberately  howls.  This 
was  his  looning, — perhaps  the  wildest  sound  that  is  ever  heard  here, 
making  the  woods  ring  far  and  wide.  I  concluded  that  he  laughed 
in  derision  of  my  efforts,  confident  of  his  own  resources.  Though  the 
sky  was  by  this  tune  overcast,  the  pond  was  so  smooth  that  I  could 
see  where  he  broke  the  surface  when  I  did  not  hear  him.  His  white 
breast,  the  stillness  of  the  air,  and  the  smoothness  of  the  water  were 
all  against  him.  At  length,  having  come  up  fifty  rods  off,  he  uttered 
one  of  those  prolonged  howls,  as  if  calling  on  the  god  of  loons  to  aid 
him,  and  immediately  there  came  a  wind  from  the  east  and  rippled 
the  surface,  and  filled  the  whole  air  with  misty  rain,  and  I  was 
impressed  as  if  it  were  the  prayer  of  the  loon  answered,  and  his  god 
was  angry  with  me;  and  so  I  left  him  disappearing  far  away  on  the 
tumultuous  surface. 

For  hours,  in  fall  days,  I  watched  the  ducks  cunningly  tack  and 
veer  and  hold  the  middle  of  the  pond,  far  from  the  sportsman;  tricks 
which  they  will  have  less  need  to  practise  in  Louisiana  bayous.  When 
compelled  to  rise  they  would  sometimes  circle  round  and  round  and 
over  the  pond  at  a  considerable  height,  from  which  they  could  easily 


498  AMERICAN  PROSE 


see  to  other  ponds  and  the  river,  like  black  motes  in  the  sky;  and, 
when  I  thought  they  had  gone  off  thither  long  since,  they  would  settle 
down  by  a  slanting  flight  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  on, to  a  distant  part 
which  was  left  free;  but  what  besides  safety  they  got  by  sailing  in 
the  middle  of  Walden  I  do  not  know,  unless  they  love  its  water  for 
the  same  reason  that  I  do. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

FROM 

THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE 


[I  am  so  well  pleased  with  my  boarding-house  that  I  intend  to 
remain  there,  perhaps  for  years.  Of  course  I  shall  have  a  great  many 
conversations  to  report,  and  they  will  necessarily  be  of  different  tone 
and  on  different  subjects.  The  talks  are  like  the  breakfasts, — some- 
times dipped  toast,  and  sometimes  dry.  You  must  take  them  as  they 
come.  How  can  I  do  what  all  these  letters  ask  me  to  ?  No.  i.  wants 
serious  and  earnest  thought.  No.  2.  (letter  smells  of  bad  cigars) 
must  have  more  jokes;  wants  me  to  tell  a  "good  storey"  which  he 
has  copied  out  for  me.  (I  suppose  two  letters  before  the  word  "  good  " 
refer  to  some  Doctor  of  Divinity  who  told  the  story.)  No.  3.  (in 
female  hand) — more  poetry.  No.  4.  wants  something  that  would 
be  of  use  to  a  practical  man.  (Prahctical  mahn  he  probably  pro- 
nounces it.)  No.  5.  (gilt-edged,  sweet-scented) — "more  sentiment," — 
"heart's  outpourings." 

My  dear  friends,  one  and  all,  I  can  do  nothing  but  report  such 
remarks  as  I  happen  to  have  made  at  our  breakfast-table.  Their 
character  will  depend  on  many  accidents, — a  good  deal  on  the  par- 
ticular persons  in  the  company  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  It  so 
happens  that  those  which  follow  were  mainly  intended  for  the  divinity- 
student  and  the  schoolmistress;  though  others  whom  I  need  not 
mention  saw  fit  to  interfere,  with  more  or  less  propriety,  in  the  con- 
versation. This  is  one  of  my  privileges  as  a  talker;  and  of  course, 
if  I  was  not  talking  for  our  whole  company,  I  don't  expect  all  the 
readers  of  this  periodical  to  be  interested  in  my  notes  of  what  was 
said.  Still,  I  think  there  may  be  a  few  that  will  rather  like  this  vein, 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  499 

— possibly  prefer  it  to  a  livelier  one, — serious  young  men,  and  young 

women  generally,  in  life's  roseate  parenthesis  from years  of  age 

to inclusive. 

Another  privilege  of  talking  is  to  misquote. — Of  course  it  wasn't 
Proserpina  that  actually  cut  the  yellow  hair, — but  Iris.  (As  I  have 
since  told  you)  it  was  the  former  lady's  regular  business,  but  Dido  had 
used  herself  ungenteelly,  and  Madame  d'Enfer  stood  firm  on  the  point 
of  etiquette.  So  the  bathycolpian  Here — Juno,  in  Latin — sent  down 
Iris  instead.  But  I  was  mightily  pleased  to  see  that  one  of  the  gentle- 
men that  do  the  heavy  articles  for  the  celebrated  "Oceanic  Miscel- 
lany" misquoted  Campbell's  line  without  any  excuse.  "Waft  us 
home  the  message,"  of  course  it  ought  to  be.  Will  he  be  duly  grateful 
for  the  correction  ?] 

The  more'we  study  the  body  and  the  mind,  the  more  we  find 

both  to  be  governed,  not  by,  but  according  to  laws,  such  as  we  observe 
in  the  larger  universe. — You  think  you  know  all  about  walking, — 
don't  you,  now?  Well,  how  do  you  suppose  your  lower  limbs  are 
held  to  your  body?  They  are  sucked  up  by  two  cupping  vessels, 
("cotyloid" — cup-like — cavities,)  and  held  there  as  long  as  you  live, 
and  longer.  At  any  rate,  you  think  you  move  them  backward  and 
forward  at  such  a  rate  as  your  will  determines,  don't  you  ?  On  the 
contrary,  they  swing  just  as  any  other  pendulums  swing,  at  a  fixed 
rate,  determined  by  their  length.  You  can  alter  this  by  muscular 
power,  as  you  can  take  hold  of  the  pendulum  of  a  clock  and  make  it 
move  faster  or  slower;  but  your  ordinary  gait  is  timed  by  the  same 
mechanism  as  the  movements  of  the  solar  system. 

[My  friend,  the  Professor,  told  me  all  this,  referring  me  to  certain 
German  physiologists  by  the  name  of  Weber  for  proof  of  the  facts, 
which,  however,  he  said  he  had  often  verified.  I  appropriated  it  to 
my  own  use ;  what  can  one  do  better  than  this,  when  one  has  a  friend 
that  tells  him  anything  worth  remembering  ? 

The  Professor  seems  to  think  that  man  and  the  general  powers 
of  the  universe  are  in  partnership.  Some  one  was  saying  that  it  had 
cost  nearly  half  a  million  to  move  the  Leviathan  only  so  far  as  they 
had  got  it  already. — Why, — said  the  Professor, — they  might  have 
hired  an  EARTHQUAKE  for  less  money!] 

Just  as  we  find  a  mathematical  rule  at  the  bottom  of  many  of  the 
bodily  movements,  just  so  thought  may  be  supposed  to  have  its 


500  AMERICAN  PROSE 


regular  cycles.  Such  or  such  a  thought  comes  round  periodically,  in 
its  turn.  Accidental  suggestions,  however,  so  far  interfere  with  the 
regular  cycles,  that  we  may  find  them  practically  beyond  our  power 
of  recognition.  Take  all  this  for  what  it  is  worth,  but  at  any  rate 
you  will  agree  that  there  are  certain  particular  thoughts  that  do  not 
come  up  once  a  day,  nor  once  a  week,  but  that  a  year  would 
hardly  go  round  without  your  having  them  pass  through  your  mind. 
Here  is  one  which  comes  up  at  intervals  in  this  way.  Some  one 
speaks  of  it,  and  there  is  an  instant  and  eager  smile  of  assent  in 
the  listener  or  listeners.  Yes,  indeed;  they  have  often  been  struck 
by  it. 

All  at  once  a  conviction  flashes  through  us  that  we  have  been  in  the 
same  precise  circumstances  as  at  the  present  instant,  once  or  many 
times  before. 

O,  dear,  yes! — said  one  of  the  company, — everybody  has  had  that 
feeling. 

The  landlady  didn't  know  anything  about  such  notions;  it  was 
an  idee  in  folks'  heads,  she  expected. 

The  schoolmistress  said,  in  a  hesitating  sort  of  way,  that  she  knew 
the  feeling  well,  and  didn't  like  to  experience  it;  it  made  her  think  she 
was  a  ghost,  sometimes. 

The  young  fellow  whom  they  call  John  said  he  knew  all  about  it; 
he  had  just  lighted  a  cheroot  the  other  day,  when  a  tremendous  con- 
viction all  at  once  came  over  him  that  he  had  done  just  that  same 
thing  ever  so  many  times  before.  I  looked  severely  at  him,  and  his 
countenance  immediately  fell — on  the  side  toward  me;  I  cannot  answer 
for  the  other,  for  he  can  wink  and  laugh  with  either  half  of  his  face 
without  the  other  half's  knowing  it. 

1  have  noticed — I  went  on  to  say — the  following  circum- 
stances connected  with  these  sudden  impressions.  First,  that  the 
condition  which  seems  to  be  the  duplicate  of  a  former  one  is  often  very 
trivial, — one  that  might  have  presented  itself  a  hundred  times. 
Secondly,  that  the  impression  is  very  evanescent,  and  that  it  is  rarely, 
if  ever,  recalled  by  any  voluntary  effort,  at  least  after  any  time  has 
elapsed.  Thirdly,  that  there  is  a  disinclination  to  record  the  circum- 
stances, and  a  sense  of  incapacity  to  reproduce  the  state  of  mind  in 
words.  Fourthly,  I  have  often  felt  that  the  duplicate  condition  had 
not  only  occurred  once  before,  but  that  it  was  familiar  and,  as  it 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  501 

seemed,  habitual.  Lastly,  I  have  had  the  same  convictions  in  my 
dreams. 

How  do  I  account  for  it  ? — Why,  there  are  several  ways  that  I 
can  mention,  and  you  may  take  your  choice.  The  first  is  that  which 
the  young  lady  hinted  at; — that  these  flashes  are  sudden  recollections 
of  a  previous  existence.  I  don't  believe  that;  for  I  remember  a  poor 
student  I  used  to  know  told  me  he  had  such  a  conviction  one  day  when 
he  was  blacking  his  boots,  and  I  can't  think  he  had  ever  lived  in 
another  world  where  they  use  Day  and  Martin. 

Some  think  that  Dr.  Wigan's  doctrine  of  the  brain's  being  a 
double  organ,  its  hemispheres  working  together  like  the  two  eyes, 
accounts  for  it.  One  of  the  hemispheres  hangs  fire,  they  suppose, 
and  the  small  interval  between  the  perceptions  of  the  nimble  and  the 
sluggish  half  seems  an  indefinitely  long  period,  and  therefore  the 
second  perception  appears  to  be  the  copy  of  another,  ever  so  old. 
But  even  allowing  the  centre  of  perception  to  be  double,  I  can  see  no 
good  reason  for  supposing  this  indefinite  lengthening  of  the  time,  nor 
any  analogy  that  bears  it  out.  It  seems  to  me  most  likely  that  the 
coincidence  of  circumstances  is  very  partial,  but  that  we  take  this 
partial  resemblance  for  identity,  as  we  occasionally  do  resemblances 
of  persons.  A  momentary  posture  of  circumstances  is  so  far  like  some 
preceding  one  that  we  accept  it  as  exactly  the  same,  just  as  we  accost 
a  stranger  occasionally,  mistaking  him  for  a  friend.  The  apparent 
similarity  may  be  owing  perhaps,  quite  as  much  to  the  mental  state 
at  the  time,  as  to  the  outward  circumstances. 

Here  is  another  of  these  curiously  recurring  remarks.  I  have 

said  it,  and  heard  it  many  times,  and  occasionally  met  with  something 
like  it  in  books, — somewhere  in  Bulwer's  novels,  I  think,  and  in  one 
of  the  works  of  Mr.  Olmsted,  I  know. 

Memory,  imagination,  old  sentiments  and  associations,  are  more 
readily  reached  through  the  sense  of  SMELL  than  by  almost  any  other 
channel. 

Of  course  the  particular  odors  which  act  upon  each  person's  sus- 
ceptibilities differ. — O,  yes!  I  will  tell  you  some  of  mine.  The  smell 
of  phosphorus  is  one  of  them.  During  a  year  or  two  of  adolescence 
I  used  to  be  dabbling  in  chemistry  a  good  deal,  and  as  about  that 
time  I  had  my  little  aspirations  and  passions  like  another,  some  of 
these  things  got  mixed  up  with  each  other :  orange-colored  fumes  of 


502  AMERICAN  PROSE 


nitrous  acid,  and  visions  as  bright  and  transient;  reddening  litmus- 
paper,  and  blushing  cheeks; — eheul 

"  Soles  occidere  et  redire  possunt," 

but  there  is  no  reagent  that  will  redden  the  faded  roses  of  eighteen 

hundred  and spare  them !  But,  as  I  was  saying,  phosphorus  fires 

this  train  of  associations  in  an  instant;  its  luminous  vapors  with  their 
penetrating  odor  throw  me  into  a  trance ;  it  comes  to  me  in  a  double 
sense  "trailing  clouds  of  glory."  Only  the  confounded  Vienna 
matches,  ohne  phosphor-geruch,  have  worn  my  sensibilities  a  little. 

Then  there  is  the  marigold.  When  I  was  of  smallest  dimensions, 
and  wont  to  ride  impacted  between  the  knees  of  fond  parental  pair, 
we  would  sometimes  cross  the  bridge  to  the  next  village-town  and 
stop  opposite  a  low,  brown,  "gambrel-roofed"  cottage.  Out  of  it 
would  come  one  Sally,  sister  of  its  swarthy  tenant,  swarthy  herself, 
shady -lipped,  sad-voiced,  and,  bending  over  her  flower-bed,  would 
gather  a  "posy,"  as  she  called  it,  for  the  little  boy.  Sally  lies  in  the 
churchyard  with  a  slab  of  blue  slate  at  her  head,  lichen-crusted,  and 
leaning  a  little  within  the  last  few  years.  Cottage,  garden-beds, 
posies,  grenadier-like  rows  of  seedling  onions,— stateliest  of  vege- 
tables,— all  are  gone,  but  the  breath  of  a  marigold  brings  them  all 
back  to  me. 

Perhaps  the  herb  everlasting,  the  fragrant  immortelle  of  our  autumn 
fields,  has  the  most  suggestive  odor  to  me  of  ah1  those  that  set  me 
dreaming.  I  can  hardly  describe  the  strange  thoughts  and  emotions 
that  come  to  me  as  I  inhale  the  aroma  of  its  pale,  dry,  rustling  flowers. 
A  something  it  has  of  sepulchral  spicery,  as  if  it  had  been  brought 
from  the  core  of  some  great  pyramid,  where  it  had  lain  on  the  breast 
of  a  mummied  Pharaoh.  Something,  too,  of  immortality  in  the  sad, 
fault  sweetness  lingering  so  long  in  its  lifeless  petals.  Yet  this  does 
not  tell  why  it  fills  my  eyes  with  tears  and  carries  me  in  blissful 
thought  to  the  banks  of  asphodel  that  border  the  River  of  Life. 

1  should  not  have  talked  so  much  about  these  personal  sus- 
ceptibilities, if  I  had  not  a  remark  to  make  about  them  which  I 
believe  is  a  new  one.  It  is  this.  There  may  be  a  physical  reason  for 
the  strange  connection  between  the  sense  of  smell  and  the  mind.  The 
olfactory  nerve — so  my  friend,  the  Professor,  tells  me — is  the  only  one 
directly  connected  with  the  hemispheres  of  the  brain,  the  parts  in 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  503 

which,  as  we  have  every  reason  to  believe,  the  intellectual  processes 
are  performed.  To  speak  more  truly,  the  olfactory  "nerve"  is  not 
a  nerve  at  all,  he  says,  but  a  part  of  the  brain,  in  intimate  connection 
with  its  anterior  lobes.  Whether  this  anatomical  arrangement  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  facts  I  have  mentioned,  I  will  not  decide,  but  it  is 
curious  enough  to  be  worth  remembering.  Contrast  the  sense  of 
taste,  as  a  source  of  suggestive  impressions,  with  that  of  smell.  Now 
the  Professor  assures  me  that  you  will  find  the  nerve  of  taste  has  no 
immediate  connection  with  the  brain  proper,  but  only  with  the 
prolongation  of  the  spinal  cord. 

[The  old  gentleman  opposite  did  not  pay  much  attention,  I  think, 
to  this  hypothesis  of  mine.  But  while  I  was  speaking  about  the  sense 
of  smell  he  nestled  about  in  his  seat,  and  presently  succeeded  in  getting 
out  a  large  red  bandanna  handkerchief.  Then  he  lurched  a  little  to 
the  other  side,  and  after  much  tribulation  at  last  extricated  an  ample 
round  snuff-box.  I  looked  as  he  opened  it  and  felt  for  the  wonted 
pugil.  Moist  rappee,  and  a  tonka-bean  lying  therein.  I  made  the 
manual  sign  understood  of  all  mankind  that  use  the  precious  dust, 
and  presently  my  brain,  too,  responded  to  the  long  unused  stimulus. 
— — O  boys, — that  were, — actual  papas  and  possible  grandpapas, — 
some  of  you  with  crowns  like  billiard-balls, — some  in  locks  of  sable 
silvered,  and  some  of  silver  sabled, — do  you  remember,  as  you  doze 
over  this,  those  after-dinners  at  the  Trois  Freres,  when  the  Scotch- 
plaided  snuff-box  went  round,  and  the  dry  Lundy-Foot  tickled  its 
way  along  into  our  happy  sensoria  ?  Then  it  was  that  the  Chamber- 
tin  or  the  Clos  Vougeot  came  in,  slumbering  in  its  straw  cradle.  And 
one  among  you, — do  you  remember  how  he  would  have  a  bit  of  ice 
always  in  his  Burgundy,  and  sit  tinkling  it  against  the  sides  of  the 
bubble-like  glass,  saying  that  he  was  hearing  the  cow-bells  as  he  used 
to  hear  them,  when  the  deep-breathing  kine  came  home  at  twilight 
from  the  huckleberry  pasture,  in  the  old  home  a  thousand  leagues 
towards  the  sunset  ?] 

Ah  me!  what  strains  and  strophes  of  unwritten  verse  pulsate 
through  my  soul  when  I  open  a  certain  closet  in  the  ancient  house 
where  I  was  born!  On  its  shelves  used  to  lie  bundles  of  sweet- 
marjoram  and  pennyroyal  and  lavender  and  mint  and  catnip;  there 
apples  were  stored  until  their  seeds  should  grow  black,  which  happy 
period  there  were  sharp  little  milk-teeth  always  ready  to  anticipate; 


504  AMERICAN  PROSE 


there  peaches  lay  in  the  dark,  thinking  of  the  sunshine  they  had  lost, 
until,  like  the  hearts  of  saints  that  dream  of  heaven  in  their  sorrow, 
they  grew  fragrant  as  the  breath  of  angels.  The  odorous  echo  of  a 
score  of  dead  summers  lingers  yet  in  those  dun  recesses. 

Do  I  remember  Byron's  line  about  "striking  the  electric 

chain"  ? — To  be  sure  I  do.  I  sometimes  think  the  less  the  hint  that 
stirs  the  automatic  machinery  of  association,  the  more  easily  this 
moves  us.  What  can  be  more  trivial  than  that  old  story  of  opening 
the  folio  Shakspeare  that  used  to  lie  in  some  ancient  English  hall 
and  finding  the  flakes  of  Christmas  pastry  between  its  leaves,  shut 
up  in  them  perhaps  a  hundred  years  ago?  And  lo!  as  one  looks  on 
these  poor  relics  of  a  bygone  generation,  the  universe  changes  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye;  old  George  the  Second  is  back  again,  and  the 
elder  Pitt  is  coming  into  power,  and  General  Wolfe  is  a  fine,  promising 
young  man,  and  over  the  Channel  they  are  pulling  the  Sieur  Damiens 
to  pieces  with  wild  horses,  and  across  the  Atlantic  the  Indians  are 
tomahawking  Hirams  and  Jonathans  and  Jonases  at  Fort  William 
Henry;  all  the  dead  people  who  have  been  in  the  dust  so  long — even 
to  the  stout-armed  cook  that  made  the  pastry — are  alive  again;  the 
planet  unwinds  a  hundred  of  its  luminous  coils,  and  the  precession  of 
the  equinoxes  is  retraced  on  the  dial  of  heaven!  And  all  this  for  a 
bit  of  pie-crust! 

1  will  thank  you  for  that  pie, — said  the  provoking  young 

fellow  whom  I  have  named  repeatedly.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  moment, 
and  put  his  hands  to  his  eyes  as  if  moved. — I  was  thinking, — he  said 
indistinctly 

How  ?    What  is  't  ?— said  our  landlady. 

1  was  thinking — said  he — who  was  king  of  England  when 

this  old  pie  was  baked, — and  it  made  me  feel  bad  to  think  how  long 
he  must  have  been  dead. 

[Our  landlady  is  a  decent  body,  poor,  and  a  widow,  of  course; 
celd  va  sans  dire.  She  told  me  her  story  once;  it  was  as  if  a  grain  of 
corn  that  had  been  ground  and  bolted  had  tried  to  individualize  itself 
by  a  special  narrative.  There  was  the  wooing  and  the  wedding, — 
the  start  in  life, — the  disappointment, — the  children  she  had  buried, — 
the  struggle  against  fate, — the  dismantling  of  life,  first  of  its  small 
luxuries,  and  then  of  its  comforts, — the  broken  spirits, — the  altered 
Character  of  the  one  on  whom  she  leaned, — and  at  last  the  death  that 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  505 

came  and  drew  the  black  curtain  between  her  and  all  her  earthly 
hopes. 

I  never  laughed  at  my  landlady  after  she  had  told  me  her  story, 
but  I  often  cried, — not  those  pattering  tears  that  run  off  the  eaves 
upon  our  neighbors'  grounds,  the  stillicidium  of  self-conscious  senti- 
ment, but  those  which  steal  noiselessly  through  their  conduits  until 
they  reach  the  cisterns  lying  round  about  the  heart ;  those  tears  that 
we  weep  inwardly  with  unchanging  features; — such  I  did  shed  for 
her  often  when  the  imps  of  the  boarding-house  Inferno  tugged  at  her 
soul  with  their  red-hot  pincers.] 

Young  man, — I  said, — the  pasty  you  speak  lightly  of  is  not  old, 
but  courtesy  to  those  who  labor  to  serve  us,  especially  if  they  are  of 
the  weaker  sex,  is  very  old,  and  yet  well  worth  retaining.  May  I 
recommend  to  you  the  following  caution,  as  a  guide,  whenever  you 
are  dealing  with  a  woman,  or  an  artist,  or  a  poet; — if  you  are  handling 
an  editor  or  politician,  it  is  superfluous  advice.  I  take  it  from  the 
back  of  one  of  those  little  French  toys  which  contain  pasteboard 
figures  moved  by  a  small  running  stream  of  fine  sand;  Benjamin 
Franklin  will  translate  it  for  you:  "Quoiqu'elle  soil  Ires  solidement 
montee  il  faut  ne  pas  BRUTALISER  la  machine." — I  will  thank  you  for 
the  pie,  if  you  please. 

[I  took  more  of  it  than  was  good  for  me, — as  much  as  85°,  I 
should  think, — and  had  an  indigestion  in  consequence.  While  I  was 
suffering  from  it,  I  wrote  some  sadly  desponding  poems,  and  a  theo- 
logical essay  which  took  a  very  melancholy  view  of  creation.  When 
I  got  better  I  labelled  them  all  "  Pie-crust,"  and  laid  them  by  as  scare- 
crows and  solemn  warnings.  I  have  a  number  of  books  on  my  shelves 
that  I  should  like  to  label  with  some  such  title;  but,  as  they  have 
great  names  on  their  title-pages, — Doctors  of  Divinity,  some  of  them, 
— it  wouldn't  do.] 

My  friend,  the  Professor,  whom  I  have  mentioned  to  you 

once  or  twice,  told  me  yesterday  that  somebody  had  been  abusing  him 
in  some  of  the  journals  of  his  calling.  I  told  him  that  I  didn't  doubt 
he  deserved  it;  that  I  hoped  he  did  deserve  a  little  abuse  occasionally, 
and  would  for  a  number  of  years  to  come ;  that  nobody  could  do  any- 
thing to  make  his  neighbors  wiser  or  better  without  being  liable  to 
abuse  for  it;  especially  that  people  hated  to  have  their  little  mistakes 
made  fun  of,  and  perhaps  he  had  been  doing  something  of  the  kind. — 


506  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  Professor  smiled. — Now,  said  I,  hear  what  I  am  going  to  say. 
It  will  not  take  many  years  to  bring  you  to  the  period  of  life  when 
men,  at  least  the  majority  of  writing  and  talking  men,  do  nothing 
but  praise.  Men,  like  peaches  and  pears,  grow  sweet- a  little  while 
before  they  begin  to  decay.  I  don't  know  what  it  is, — whether  a 
spontaneous  change,  mental  or  bodily,  or  whether  it  is  thorough 
experience  of  the  thanklessness  of  critical  honesty, — but  it  is  a  fact, 
that  most  writers,  except  sour  and  unsuccessful  ones,  get  tired  of  find- 
ing fault  at  about  the  time  when  they  are  beginning  to  grow  old. 
As  a  general  thing,  I  would  not  give  a  great  deal  for  the  fair  words  of  a 
critic,  if  he  is  himself  an  author,  over  fifty  years  of  age.  At  thirty  we 
are  all  trying  to  cut  our  names  in  big  letters  upon  the  walls  of  this 
tenement  of  life;  twenty  years  later  we  have  carved  it,  or  shut  up 
our  jack-knives.  Then  we  are  ready  to  help  others,  and  care  less  to 
hinder  any,  because  nobody's  elbows  are  in  our  way.  So  I  am  glad 
you  have  a  little  life  left;  you  will  be  saccharine  enough  in  a  few  years. 
— Some  of  the  softening  effects  of  advancing  age  have  struck 
me  very  much  in  what  I  have  heard  or  seen  here  and  elsewhere.  I  just 
now  spoke  of  the  sweetening  process  that  authors  undergo.  Do  you 
know  that  in  the  gradual  passage  from  maturity  to  helplessness  the 
harshest  characters  sometimes  have  a  period  in  which  they  are  gentle 
and  placid  as  young  children  ?  I  have  heard  it  said,  but  I  cannot  be 
sponsor  for  its  truth,  that  the  famous  chieftain,  Lochiel,  was  rocked 
in  a  cradle  like  a  baby,  in  his  old  age.  An  old  man,  whose  studies 
had  been  of  the  severest  scholastic  kind,  used  to  love  to  hear  little 
nursery-stories  read  over  and  over  to  him.  One  who  saw  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  in  his  last  years  describes  him  as  very  gentle  in  his 
aspect  and  demeanor.  I  remember  a  person  of  singularly  stern  and 
lofty  bearing  who  became  remarkably  gracious  and  easy  in  all  his 
ways  in  the  later  period  of  his  life. 

And  that  leads  me  to  say  that  men  often  remind  me  of  pears  in 
their  way  of  coming  to  maturity.  Some  are  ripe  at  twenty,  like 
human  Jargonelles,  and  must  be  made  the  most  of,  for  their  day  is 
soon  over.  Some  come  into  their  perfect  condition  late,  like  the 
autumn  kinds,  and  they  last  better  than  the  summer  fruit.  And 
some,  that,  like  the  Winter-Nelis,  have  been  hard  and  uninviting  until 
all  the  rest  have  had  their  season,  get  their  glow  and  perfume  long 
after  the  frost  and  snow  have  done  their  worst  with  the  orchards. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  507 

Beware  of  rash  criticisms;  the  rough  and  stringent  fruit  you  condemn 
may  be  an  autumn  or  a  winter  pear,  and  that  which  you  picked  up 
beneath  the  same  bough  in  August  may  have  been  only  its  worm- 
eaten  windfalls.  Milton  was  a  Saint-Germain  with  a  graft  of  the 
roseate  Early-Catherine.  Rich,  juicy,  lively,  fragrant,  russet  skinned 
old  Chaucer  was  an  Easter-Beurre;  the  buds  of  a  new  summer  were 
swelling  when  he  ripened. 

There  is  no  power  I  envy  so  much — said  the  divinity-student 

— as  that  of  seeing  analogies  and  making  comparisons.  I  don't  under- 
stand how  it  is  that  some  minds  are  continually  coupling  thoughts  or 
objects  that  seem  not  in  the  least  related  to  each  other,  until  all  at 
once  they  are  put  in  a  certain  light,  and  you  wonder  that  you  did  not 
always  see  that  they  were  as  like  as  a  pair  of  twins.  It  appears  to 
me  a  sort  of  miraculous  gift. 

[He  is  rather  a  nice  young  man,  and  I  think  has  an  appreciation 
of  the  higher  mental  qualities  remarkable  for  one  of  his  years  and 
training.  I  try  his  head  occasionally  as  housewives  try  eggs, — give 
it  an  intellectual  shake  and  hold  it  up  to  the  light,  so  to  speak,  to  see 
if  it  has  life  in  it,  actual  or  potential,  or  only  contains  lifeless  albumen.] 

You  call  it  miraculous, — I  replied, — tossing  the  expression  with 
my  facial  eminence,  a  little  smartly,  I  fear. — Two  men  are  walking 
by  the  polyphloesbcean  ocean,  one  of  them  having  a  small  tin  cup 
with  which  he  can  scoop  up  a  gill  of  sea-water  when  he  will,  and  the 
other  nothing  but  his  hands,  which  will  hardly  hold  water  at  all, — 
and  you  call  the  tin  cup  a  miraculous  possession!  It  is  the  ocean  that 
is  the  miracle,  my  infant  apostle!  Nothing  is  clearer  than  that  all 
things  are  in  all  things,  and  that  just  according  to  the  intensity  and 
extension  of  our  mental  being  we  shall  see  the  many  in  the  one  and 
the  one  in  the  many.  Did  Sir  Isaac  think  what  he  was  saying  when 
he  made  his  speech  about  the  ocean, — the  child  and  the  pebbles,  you 
know  ?  Did  he  mean  to  speak  slightingly  of  a  pebble  ?  Of  a  spherical 
solid  which  stood  sentinel  over  its  compartment  of  space  before  the 
stone  that  became  the  pyramids  had  grown  solid,  and  has  watched 
it  until  now!  A  body  which  knows  all  the  currents  of  force  that 
traverse  the  globe;  which  holds  by  invisible  threads  to  the  ring  of 
Saturn  and  the  belt  of  Orion!  A  body  from  the  contemplation  of 
which  an  archangel  could  infer  the  entire  inorganic  universe  as  the 
simplest  of  corollaries!  A  throne  of  the  all-pervading  Deity,  who  has 


508  AMERICAN  PROSE 


guided  its  every  atom  since  the  rosary  of  heaven  was  strung  with 
beaded  stars! 

So, — to  return  to  our  walk  by  the  ocean, — if  all  that  poetry  has 
dreamed,  all  that  insanity  has  raved,  all  that  maddening  narcotics 
have  driven  through  the  brains  of  men,  or  smothered  passion  nursed 
in  the  fancies  of  women, — if  the  dreams  of  colleges  and  convents  and 
boarding-schools, — if  every  human  feeling  that  sighs,  or  smiles,  or 
curses,  or  shrieks,  or  groans,  should  bring  all  their  innumerable  images, 
such  as  come  with  every  hurried  heart-beat, — the  epic  which  held 
them  all,  though  its  letters  filled  the  zodiac,  would  be  but  a  cupful  from 
the  infinite  ocean  of  similitudes  and  analogies  that  rolls  through  the 
universe. 

[The  divinity-student  honored  himself  by  the  way  in  which  he 
received  this.  He  did  not  swallow  it  at  once,  neither  did  he  reject 
it;  but  he  took  it  as  a  pickerel  takes  the  bait,  and  carried  it  off  with 
him  to  his  hole  (in  the  fourth  story)  to  deal  with  at  his  leisure.] 

Here  is  another  remark  made  for  his  especial  benefit. — There 

is  a  natural  tendency  in  many  persons  to  run  their  adjectives  together 
in  triads,  as  I  have  heard  them  called, — thus:  He  was  honorable, 
courteous,  and  brave ;  she  was  graceful,  pleasing,  and  virtuous.  Dr. 
Johnson  is  famous  for  this;  I  think  it  was  Bulwer  who  said  you  could 
separate  a  paper  in  the  "  Rambler  "  into  three  distinct  essays.  Many 
of  our  writers  show  the  same  tendency, — my  friend,  the  Professor, 
especially.  Some  think  it  is  in  humble  imitation  of  Johnson, — some 
that  it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  stately  sound  only.  I  don't  think  they 
get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  It  is,  I  suspect,  an  instinctive  and  involun- 
tary effort  of  the  mind  to  present  a  thought  or  image  with  the  three 
dimensions  that  belong  to  every  solidj-^n  unconscious  handling  of 
an  idea  as  if  it  had  length,  breadth,  and  thickness.  It  is  a  great  deal 
easier  to  say  this  than  to  prove  it,  and  a  great  deal  easier  to  dispute 
it  than  to  disprove  it.  But  mind  this:  the  more  we  observe  and 
study,  the  wider  we  find  the  range  of  the  automatic  and  instinctive 
principles  in  body,  mind,  and  morals,  and  the  narrower  the  limits  of 
the  self-determining  conscious  movement. 

— I  have  often  seen  piano-forte  players  and  singers  make  such 
strange  motions  over  their  instruments  or  song-books  that  I  wanted 
to  laugh  at  them.  "Where  did  our  friends  pick  up  all  these  fine 
ecstatic  airs?"  I  would  say  to  myself.  Then  I  would  remember 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  509 

My  Lady  in  "Marriage  a  la  Mode,"  and  amuse  myself  with  thinking 
how  affectation  was  the  same  thing  in  Hogarth's  time  and  in  our  own. 
But  one  day  I  bought  me  a  Canary-bird  and  hung  him  up  in  a  cage 
at  my  window.  By-and-by  he  found  himself  at  home,  and  began  to 
pipe  his  little  tunes;  and  there  he  was,  sure  enough,  swimming  and 
waving  about,  with  all  the  droopings  and  liftings  and  languishing  side- 
turnings  of  the  head  that  I  had  laughed  at.  And  now  I  should  like 
to  ask,  WHO  taught  him  all  this? — and  me,  through  him,  that  the 
foolish  head  was  not  the  one  swinging  itself  from  side  to  side  and 
bowing  and  nodding  over  the  music,  but  that  other  which  was  passing 
its  shallow  and  self-satisfied  judgment  on  a  creature  made  of  finer 
clay  than  the  frame  which  carried  that  same  head  upon  its  shoulders  ? 

Do  you  want  an  image  of  the  human  will,  or  the  self- 
determining  principle,  as  compared  with  its  prearranged  and  impass- 
able restrictions  ?  A  drop  of  wate*,  imprisoned  in  a  crystal;  you  may 
see  such  a  one  in  any  mineralogical  collection.  One  little  fluid  particle 
in  the  crystalline  prism  of  the  solid  universe! 

Weaken  moral  obligations? — No,  not  weaken,  but  define 

them.  When  I  preach  that  sermon  I  spoke  of  the  other  day,  I  shall 
have  to  lay  down  some  principles  not  fully  recognized  in  some  of  your 
text-books. 

I  should  have  to  begin  with  one  most  formidable  preliminary. 
You  saw  an  article  the  other  day  in  one  of  the  journals,  perhaps,  in 
which  some  old  Doctor  or  other  said  quietly  that  patients  were  very 
apt  to  be  fools  and  cowards.  But  a  great  many  of  the  clergyman's 
patients  are  not  only  fools  and  cowards,  but  also  liars. 

[Immense  sensation  at  the  table. — Sudden  retirement  of  the 
angular  female  in  oxydated  bombazine.  Movement  of  adhesion — 
as  they  say  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies — on  the  part  of  the  young 
fellow  they  call  John.  Falling  of  the  old-gentleman-opposite's  lower 
jaw — (gravitation  is  beginning  to  get  the  better  of  him).  Our  land- 
lady to  Benjamin  Franklin,  briskly, — Go  to  school  right  off,  there's 
a  good  boy!  Schoolmistress  curious, — takes  a  quick  glance  at 
divinity-student.  Divinity-student  slightly  flushed;  draws  his 
shoulders  back  a  little,  as  if  a  big  falsehood — or  truth — had  hit  him 
in  the  forehead.  Myself  calm.] 

1  should  not  make  such  a  speech  as  that,  you  know,  without 

having  pretty  substantial  indorsers  to  fall  back  upon,  in  case  my 


510  AMERICAN  PROSE 


credit  should  be  disputed.  Will  you  run  up  stairs,  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, (for  B.  F.  had  not  gone  right  off,  of  course,)  and  bring  down  a 
small  volume  from  the  left  upper  corner  of  the  right-hand  shelves  ? 

[Look  at  the  precious  little  black,  ribbed-backed,  clean-typed, 
vellum-papered  321110.  "DESIDERII  ERASMI  COLLOQUIA.  Amstelo- 
dami.  Typis  Ludovici  Elzevirii.  1650."  Various  names  written  on 
title-page.  Most  conspicuous  this:  Gul.  Cookeson:  E.  Coll.  Omn. 
Anim.  1725.  Oxon. 

O  William  Cookeson,  of  All-Souls  College,  Oxford,— then 

writing  as  I  now  write, — now  in  the  dust,  where  I  shall  lie, — is  this 
line  all  that  remains  to  thee  of  earthly  remembrance  ?  Thy  name  is 
at  least  once  more  spoken  by  living  men; — is  it  a  pleasure  to  thee? 
Thou  shalt  share  with  me  my  little  draught  of  immortality, — its 
week,  its  month,  its  year, — whatever  it  may  be, — and  then  we  will 
go  together  into  the  solemn  archives  of  Oblivion's  Uncatalogued 
Library!] 

— If  you  think  I  have  used  rather  strong  language,  I  shall  have 
to  read  something  to  you  out  of  the  book  of  this  keen  and  witty 
scholar, — the  great  Erasmus, — who  "laid  the  egg  of  the  Reformation 
which  Luther  hatched."  Oh,  you  never  read  his  Naufragium,  or 
"  Shipwreck,"  did  you  ?  Of  course  not;  for,  if  you  had,  I  don't  think 
you  would  have  given  me  credit — or  discredit — for  entire  originality 
in  that  speech  of  mine.  That  men  are  cowards  in  the  contemplation 
of  futurity  he  illustrates  by  the  extraordinary  antics  of  many  on  board 
the  sinking  vessel;  that  they  are  fools,  by  their  praying  to  the  sea, 
and  making  promises  to  bits  of  wood  from  the  true  cross,  and  all 
manner  of  similar  nonsense;  that  they  are  fools,  cowards,  and  liars 
all  at  once,  by  this  story:  I  will  put  it  into  rough  English  for  you. — 
"I  couldn't  help  laughing  to  hear  one  fellow  bawling  out,  so  that  he 
might  be  sure  to  be  heard,  a  promise  to  Saint  Christopher  of  Paris — 
the  monstrous  statue  in  the  great  church  there — that  he  would  give 
him  a  wax  taper  as  big  as  himself.  'Mind  what  you  promise!'  said 
an  acquaintance  that  stood  near  him,  poking  him  with  his  elbow; 
'you  couldn't  pay  for  it,  if  you  sold  all  your  things  at  auction.'  'Hold 
your  tongue,  you  donkey!'  said  the  fellow, — but  softly,  so  that  Saint 
Christopher  should  not  hear  him, — '  do  you  think  I  'm  in  earnest  ? 
If  I  once  get  my  foot  on  dry  ground,  catch  me  giving  him  so  much 
as  a  tallow  candle!'" 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  SIT 

Now,  therefore,  remembering  that  those  who  have  been  loudest 
in  their  talk  about  the  great  subject  of  which  we  were  speaking  have 
not  necessarily  been  wise,  brave,  and  true  men,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
have  very  often  been  wanting  in  one  or  two  or  all  of  the  qualities 
these  words  imply,  I  should  expect  to  find  a  good  many  doctrines 
current  in  the  schools  which  I  should  be  obliged  to  call  foolish, 
cowardly,  and  false. 

So  you  would  abuse  other  people's  beliefs,  Sir,  and  yet  not 

tell  us  your  own  creed! — said  the  divinity-student,  coloring  up  with 
a  spirit  for  which  I  liked  him  all  the  better. 

1  have  a  creed, — I  replied;  none  better,  and  none  shorter. 

It  is  told  in  two  words, — the  two  first  of  the  Paternoster.  And  when 
I  say  these  words  I  mean  them.  And  when  I  compared  the  human 
will  to  a  drop  in  a  crystal,  and  said  I  meant  to  define  moral  obligations, 
and  not  weaken  them,  this  was  vhat  I  intended  to  express:  that  the 
fluent,  self-determining  power  of  human  beings  is  a  very  strictly 
limited  agency  in  the  universe.  The  chief  planes  of  its  enclosing  solid 
are,  of  course,  organization,  education,  condition.  Organization  may 
reduce  the  power  of  the  will  to  nothing,  as  in  some  idiots;  and  from 
this  zero  the  scale  mounts  upwards  by  slight  gradations.  Education 
is  only  second  to  nature.  Imagine  all  the  infants  born  this  year  in 
Boston  and  Timbuctoo  to  change  places!  Condition  does  less,  but 
"Give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches"  was  the  prayer  of  Agur,  and 
with  good  reason.  If  there  is  any  improvement  in  modern  theology, 
it  is  in  getting  out  of  the  region  of  pure  abstractions  and  taking  these 
e very-day  working  forces  into  account.  The  great  theological  ques- 
tion now  heaving  and  throbbing  in  the  minds  of  Christian  men  is 
this: 

No,  I  won't  talk  about  these  things  now.  My  remarks  might  be 
repeated,  and  it  would  give  my  friends  pain  to  see  with  what  personal 
incivilities  I  should  be  visited.  Besides,  what  business  has  a  mere 
boarder  to  be  talking  about  such  things  at  a  breakfast-table?  Let 
him  make  puns.  To  be  sure,  he  was  brought  up  among  the  Christian 
fathers,  and  learned  his  alphabet  out  of  a  quarto  "  Concilium  Triden- 
tinum."  He  has  also  heard  many  thousand  theological  lectures  by 
men  of  various  denominations;  and  it  is  not  at  all  to  the  credit  of 
these  teachers,  if  he  is  not  fit  by  this  time  to  express  an  opinion  on 
theological  matters. 


512  AMERICAN  PROSE 


I  know  well  enough  that  there  are  some  of  you  who  had  a  great 
deal  rather  see  me  stand  on  my  head  than  use  it  for  any  purpose  of 
thought.  Does  not  my  friend,  the  Professor,  receive  at  least  two 

letters  a  week,  requesting  him  to , — on  the 

strength  of  some  youthful  antic  of  his,  which,  no  doubt,  authorizes 
the  intelligent  constituency  of  autograph-hunters  to  address  him  as 
a  harlequin  ? 

— Well,  I  can't  be  savage  with  you  for  wanting  to  laugh,  and 
I  like  to  make  you  laugh,  well  enough,  when  I  can.  But  then  observe 
this:  if  the  sense  of  the  ridiculous  is  one  side  of  an  impressible  nature, 
it  is  very  well;  but  if  that  is  all  there  is  in  a  man,  he  had  better  have 
been  an  ape  at  once,  and  so  have  stood  at  the  head  of  his  profession. 
Laughter  and  tears  are  meant  to  turn  the  wheels  of  the  same  machin- 
ery of  sensibility;  one  is  wind-power,  and  the  other  water-power;  that 
is  all.  I  have  often  heard  the  Professor  talk  about  hysterics  as  being 
Nature's  cleverest  illustration  of  the  reciprocal  convertibility  of  the 
two  states  of  which  these  acts  are  the  manifestations.  But  you  may 
see  it  every  day  in  children;  and  if  you  want  to  choke  with  stifled 
tears  at  sight  of  the  transition,  as  it  shows  itself  in  older  years,  go 
and  see  Mr.  Blake  play  Jesse  Rural. 

It  is  a  very  dangerous  thing  for  a  literary  man  to  indulge  his  love 
for  the  ridiculous.  People  laugh  with  him  just  so  long  as  he  amuses 
them;  but  if  he  attempts  to  be  serious,  they  must  still  have  their 
laugh,  and  so  they  laugh  at  him.  There  is  in  addition,  however,  a 
deeper  reason  for  this  than  would  at  first  appear.  Do  you  know  that 
you  feel  a  little  superior  to  every  man  who  makes  you  laugh,  whether 
by  making  faces  or  verses  ?  Are  you  aware  that  you  have  a  pleasant 
sense  of  patronizing  him,  when  you  condescend  so  far  as  to  let  him 
turn  somersets,  literal  or  literary,  for  your  royal  delight  ?  Now  if  a 
man  can  only  be  allowed  to  stand  on  a  dais,  or  raised  platform,  and 
look  down  on  his  neighbor  who  is  exerting  his  talent  for  him,  oh,  it 
is  all  right! — first-rate  performance! — and  all  the  rest  of  the  fine 
phrases.  But  if  all  at  once  the  performer  asks  the  gentleman  to  come 
upon  the  floor,  and,  stepping  upon  the  platform,  begins  to  talk  down 
at  him, — ah,  that  wasn't  in  the  programme! 

I  have  never  forgotten  what  happened  when  Sydney  Smith — who, 
as  everybody  knows,  was  an  exceedingly  sensible  man,  and  a  gentle- 
man, every  inch  of  him — ventured  to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  Duties 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  513 

of  Royalty.  The  "  Quarterly,"  "  so  savage  and  tartarly,"  came  down 
upon  him  in  the  most  contemptuous  style,  as  "a  joker  of  jokes,"  a 
"diner-out  of  the  first  water,"  in  one  of  his  own  phrases;  sneering  at 
him,  insulting  him,  as  nothing  but  a  toady  of  a  court,  sneaking  behind 
the  anonymous,  would  ever  have  been  mean  enough  to  do  to  a  man 
of  his  position  and  genius,  or  to  any  decent  person  even. — If  I  were 
giving  advice  to  a  young  fellow  of  talent,  with  two  or  three  facets  to 
his  mind,  I  would  tell  him  by  all  means  to  keep  his  wit  in  the  back- 
ground until  after  he  had  made  a  reputation  by  his  more  solid 
qualities.  And  so  to  an  actor :  Hamlet  first,  and  Bob  Logic  afterwards, 
if  you  like;  but  don't  think,  as  they  say  poor  Listen  used  to,  that 
people  will  be  ready  to  allow  that  you  can  do  anything  great  with 
Macbeth's  dagger  after  flourishing  about  with  Paul  Pry's  umbrella. 
Do  you  know,  too,  that  the  majority  of  men  look  upon  all  who  chal- 
lenge their  attention, — for  a  while,  at  least, — as  beggars,  and 
nuisances  ?  They  always  try  to  get  off  as  cheaply  as  they  can;  and 
the  cheapest  of  all  things  they  can  give  a  literary  man — pardon  the 
forlorn  pleasantry! — is  the  funny-bone.  That  is  all  very  well  so  far 
as  it  goes,  but  satisfies  no  man,  and  makes  a  good  many  angry,  as  I 
told  you  on  a  former  occasion. 

Oh,  indeed,  no! — I  am  not  ashamed  to  make  you  laugh, 

occasionally.  I  think  I  could  read  you  something  I  have  in  my  desk 
which  would  probably  make  you  smile.  Perhaps  I  will  read  it  one 
of  these  days,  if  you  are  patient  with  me  when  I  am  sentimental  and 
reflective;  not  just  now.  The  ludicrous  has  its  place  in  the  universe; 
it  is  not  a  human  invention,  but  one  of  the  Divine  ideas,  illustrated 
in  the  practical  jokes  of  kittens  and  monkeys  long  before  Aristophanes 
or  Shakspeare.  How  curious  it  is  that  we  always  consider  solemnity 
and  the  absence  of  all  gay  surprises  and  encounter  of  wits  as  essential 
to  the  idea  of  the  future  life  of  those  whom  we  thus  deprive  of  half 
their  faculties  and  then  call  blessed!  There  are  not  a  few  who,  even 
in  this  life,  seem  to  be  preparing  themselves  for  that  smileless  eternity 
to  which  they  look  forward,  by  banishing  all  gayety  from  their  hearts 
and  all  joyousness  from  their  countenances.  I  meet  one  such  in  the 
street  not  unfrequently,  a  person  of  intelligence  and  education,  but 
who  gives  me  (and  all  that  he  passes)  such  a  rayless  and  chilling  look 
of  recognition, — something  as  if  he  were  one  of  Heaven's  assessors, 
come  down  to  "doom"  every  acquaintance  he  met, — that  I  have 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


sometimes  begun  to  sneeze  on  the  spot,  and  gone  home  with  a  violent 
cold,  dating  from  that  instant.  I  don't  doubt  he  would  cue  his  kit- 
ten's tail  off,  if  he  caught  her  playing  with  it.  Please  tell  me,  who 
taught  her  to  play  with  it  ? 

No,  no! — give  me  a  chance  to  talk  to  you,  my  fellow-boarders, 
and  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I  shall  have  any  scruples  about  enter- 
taining you,  if  I  can  do  it,  as  well  as  giving  you  some  of  my  serious 
thoughts,  and  perhaps  my  sadder  fancies.  I  know  nothing  in.  English 
or  any  other  literature  more  admirable  than  that  sentiment  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  "EVERY  MAN  TRULY  LIVES,  so  LONG  AS  HE  ACTS 

HIS  NATURE,  OR  SOME  WAY  MAKES  GOOD  THE  FACULTIES  OF  HIMSELF." 

I  find  the  great  thing  in  this  world  is  not  so  much  where  we  stand, 
as  in  what  direction  we  are  moving:  To  reach  the  port  of  heaven,  we 
must  sail  sometimes  with  the  wind  and  sometimes  against  it, — but  we 
must  sail,  and  not  drift,  nor  lie  at  anchor.  There  is  one  very  sad 
thing  in  old  friendships,  to  every  mind  that  is  really  moving  onward. 
It  is  this:  that  one  cannot  help  using  his  early  friends  as  the  seaman 
uses  the  log,  to  mark  his  progress.  Every  now  and  then  we  throw 
an  old  schoolmate  over  the  stern  with  a  string  of  thought  tied  to  him, 
and  look — I  am  afraid  with  a  kind  of  luxurious  and  sanctimonious 
compassion — to  see  the  rate  at  which  the  string. reels  off,  while  he 
lies  there  bobbing  up  and  down,  poor  fellow!  and  we  are  dashing  along 
with  the  white  foam  and  bright  sparkle  at  our  bows; — the  ruffled 
bosom  of  prosperity  and  progress,  with  a  sprig  of  diamonds  stuck  hi  it! 
But  this  is  only  the  sentimental  side  of  the  matter;  for  grow  we  must, 
if  we  outgrow  all  that  we  love. 

Don't  misunderstand  that  metaphor  of  heaving  the  log,  I  beg 
you.  It  is  merely  a  smart  way  of  saying  that  we  cannot  avoid  meas- 
uring our  rate  of  movement  by  those  with  whom  we  have  long  been 
in  the  habit  of  comparing  ourselves;  and  when  they  once  become 
stationary,  we  can  get  our  reckoning  from  them  with  painful  accuracy. 
We  see  just  what  we  were  when  they  were  our  peers,  and  can  strike 
the  balance  between  that  and  whatever  we  may  feel  ourselves  to  be 
now.  No  doubt  we  may  sometimes  be  mistaken.  If  we  change  our 
last  simile  to  that  very  old  and  familiar  one  of  a  fleet  leaving  the 
harbor  and  sailing  in  company  for  some  distant  region,  we  can  get 
what  we  want  out  of  it.  There  is  one  of  our  companions; — her 
streamers  were  torn  into  rags  before  she  had  got  into  the  open  sea, 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  515 

then  by  and  by  her  sails  blew  out  of  the  ropes  one  after  another,  the 
waves  swept  her  deck,  and  as  night  came  on  we  left  her  a  seeming 
wreck,  as  we  flew  under  our  pyramid  of  canvas.  But  lo!  at  dawn  she 
is  still  in  sight, — it  may  be  in  advance  of  us.  Some  deep  ocean-current 
has  been  moving  her  on,  strong,  but  silent, — yes,  stronger  than  these 
noisy  winds  that  puff  our  sails  until  they  are  swollen  as  the  cheeks  of 
jubilant  cherubim.  And  when  at  last  the  black  steam-tug  with  the 
skeleton  arms,  which  comes  out  of  the  mist  sooner  or  later  and  takes 
us  all  in  tow,  grapples  her  and  goes  off  panting  and  groaning  with  her, 
it  is  to  that  harbor  where  all  wrecks  are  refitted,  and  where,  alas!  we, 
towering  in  our  pride,  may  never  come. 

So  you  will  not  think  I  mean  to  speak  lightly  of  old  friendships, 
because  we  cannot  help  instituting  comparisons  between  our  present 
and  former  selves  by  the  aid  of  those  who  were  what  we  were,  but 
are  not  what  we  are.  Nothing  strikes  one  more,  in  the  race  of  life, 
than  to  see  how  many  give  out  in  the  first  half  of  the  course.  "  Com- 
mencement day"  always  reminds  me  of  the  start  for  the  "Derby," 
when  the  beautiful  high-bred  three-year  olds  of  the  season  are  brought 
up  for  trial.  That  day  is  the  start,  and  life  is  the  race.  Here  we 
are  at  Cambridge,  and  a  class  is  just  "graduating."  Poor  Harry! 
he  was  to  have  been  there  too,  but  he  has  paid  forfeit;  step  out  here 
into  the  grass  back  of  the  church;  ah,  there  it  is: —  *  . 

"HUNC   LAPIDEM  POSUERUNT 
SOCII  MOJRENTES." 

But  this  is  the  start,  and  here  they  are, — coats  bright  as  silk,  and 
manes  as  smooth  as  eau  lustrale  can  make  them.  Some  of  the  best 
of  the  colts  are  pranced  round,  a  few  minutes  each,  to  show  their 
paces.  What  is  that  old  gentleman  crying  about  ?  and  the  old  lady 
by  him,  and  the  three  girls,  what  are  they  all  covering  their  eyes  for  ? 
Oh,  that  is  their  colt  which  has  just  been  trotted  up  on  the  stage. 
Do  they  really  think  those  little  thin  legs  can  do  anything  in  such  a 
slashing  sweepstakes  as  is  coming  off  in  these  next  forty  years  ?  Oh, 
this  terrible  gift  of  second-sight  that  comes  to  some  of  us  when  we 
begin  to  look  through  the  silvered  rings  of  the  arcus  senilis! 

Ten  years  gone.  First  turn  in  the  race.  A  few  broken  down; 
two  or  three  bolted.  Several  show  in  advance  of  the  ruck.  Cassock, 
a  black  colt,  seems  to  be  ahead  of  the  rest ;  those  black  colts  commonly 


516  AMERICAN  PROSE 


get  the  start,  I  have  noticed,  of  the  others,  in  the  first  quarter. 
Meteor  has  pulled  up. 

Twenty  years.  Second  corner  turned.  Cassock  has  dropped  from 
the  front,  and  Judex,  an  iron-gray,  has  the  lead.  But  look!  how  they 
have  thinned  out!  Down  flat, — five, — six, — how  many?  They  lie 
still  enough!  they  will  not  get  up  again  in  this  race,  be  very  sure! 
And  the  rest  of  them,  what  a  "tailing  off"!  Anybody  can  see  who 
is  going  to  win, — perhaps. 

Thirty  years.  Third  corner  turned.  Dives,  bright  sorrel,  ridden 
by  the  fellow  in  a  yellow  jacket,  begins  to  make  play  fast;  is  getting 
to  be  the  favourite  with  many.  But  who  is  that  other  one  that  has 
been  lengthening  his  stride  from  the  first,  and  now  shows  close  up 
to  the  front?  Don't  you  remember  the  quiet  brown  colt  Asteroid, 
with  the  star  in  his  forehead  ?  That  is  he ;  he  is  one  of  the  sort  that 
lasts;  look  out  for  him!  The  black  "colt,"  as  we  used  to  call  him, 
is  in  the  background,  taking  it  easily  in  a  gentle  trot.  There  is  one 
they  used  to  call  the  Filly,  on  account  of  a  certain  feminine  air  he 
had;  well  up,  you  see;  the  Filly  is  not  to  be  despised,  my  boy! 

Forty  years.    More  dropping  off, — but  places  much  as  before. 

Fifty  years.  Race  over.  All  that  are  on  the  course  are  coming 
in  at  a  walk;  no  more  running.  Who  is  ahead?  Ahead?  What! 
and  the  winning-post  a  slab  of  white  or  gray  stone  standing  out  from 
that  turf  where  there  is  no  more  jockeying  or  straining  for  victory! 
Well,  the  world  marks  their  places  in  its  betting-book;  but  be  sure 
that  these  matter  very  little,  if  they  have  run  as  well  as  they  knew  how ! 

Did  I  not  say  to  you  a  little  while  ago  that  the  universe  swam 

in  an  ocean  of  similitudes  and  analogies  ?  I  will  not  quote  Cowley, 
or  Burns,  or  Wordsworth,  just  now,  to  show  you  what  thoughts  were 
suggested  to  them  by  the  simplest  natural  objects,  such  as  a  flower 
or  a  leaf;  but  I  will  read  you  a  few  lines,  if  you  do  not  object,  suggested 
by  looking  at  a  section  of  one  of  those  chambered  shells  to  which  is 
given  the  name  of  Pearly  Nautilus.  We  need  not  trouble  ourselves 
about  the  distinction  between  this  and  the  Paper  Nautilus,  the 
Argonauta  of  the  ancients.  The  name  applied  to  both  shows  that 
each  has  long  been  compared  to  a  ship,  as  you  may  see  more  fully 
in  Webster's  Dictionary,  or  the  "Encyclopedia,"  to  which  he  refers. 
If  you  will  look  into  Roget's  Bridgewater  Treatise,  you  will  find  a 
figure  of  one  of  these  shells,  and  a  section  of  it.  Tie  last  will  show 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  517 

you  the  series  of  enlarging  compartments  successively  dwelt  in  by  the 
animal  that  inhabits  the  shell,  which  is  built  in  a  widening  spiral. 
Can  you  find  no  lesson  in  this  ? 

THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main, — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  W;as  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed, — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew-the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap  forlorn! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings: 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea ! 


Si8  AMERICAN  PROSE 


A  Lyric  conception — my  friend,  the  Poet,  said — hits  me  like  a 
bullet  in  the  forehead.  I  have  often  had  the  blood  drop  from  my 
cheeks  when  it  struck,  and  felt  that  I  turned  as  white  as  death.  Then 
comes  a  creeping  as  of  centipedes  running  down  the  spine, — then  a 
gasp  and  a  great  jump  of  the  heart, — then  a  sudden  flush  and  a  beating 
in  the  vessels  of  the  head, — then  a  long  sigh, — and  the  poem  is  written. 

It  is  an  impromptu,  I  suppose,  then,  if  you  write  it  so  suddenly, — 
I  replied. 

No, — said  he, — far  from  it.  I  said  written,  but  I  did  not  say 
copied.  Every  such  poem  has  a  soul  and  a  body,  and  it  is  the  body 
of  it,  or  the  copy,  that  men  read  and  publishers  pay  for.  The  soul 
of  it  is  born  in  an  instant  in  the  poet's  soul.  It  comes  to  him  a 
thought,  tangled  in  the  meshes  of  a  few  sweet  words, — words  that  have 
loved  each  other  from  the  cradle  of  the  language,  but  have  never  been 
wedded  until  now.  Whether  it  will  ever  fully  embody  itself  in  a 
bridal  tram  of  a  dozen  stanzas  or  not  is  uncertain;  but  it  exists 
potentially  from  the  instant  that  the  poet  turns  pale  with  it.  It  is 
enough  to  stun  and  scare  anybody,  to  have  a  hot  thought  come 
crashing  into  his  brain,  and  ploughing  up  those  parallel  ruts  where 
the  wagon  trains  of  common  ideas  were  jogging  along  in  their  regular 
sequences  of  association.  No  wonder  the  ancients  made  the  poetical 
impulse  wholly  external.  Mijviv  aaSe  ®«a'  Goddess, — Muse, — divine 
afflatus, — something  outside  always.  7  never  wrote  any  verses 
worth  reading.  I  can't.  I  am  too  stupid.  If  I  ever  copied  any  that 
were  worth  reading,  I  was  only  a  medium. 

[I  was  talking  all  this  tune  to  our  boarders,  you  understand, — tell- 
ing them  what  this  poet  told  me.  The  company  listened  rather  atten- 
tively, I  thought,  considering  the  literary  character  of  the  remarks.] 

The  old  gentleman  opposite  all  at  once  asked  me  if  I  ever  read 
anything  better  than  Pope's  "Essay  on  Man"  ?  Had  I  ever  perused 
McFingal  ?  He  was  fond  of  poetry  when  he  was  a  boy, — his  mother 
taught  him  to  say  many  little  pieces, — he  remembered  one  beautiful 
hymn; — and  the  old  gentleman  began,  in  a  clear,  loud  voice,  for  his 
years  — 

"The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 
And  spangled  heavens," 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  519 

He  stopped,  as  if  startled  by  our  silence,  and  a  faint  flush  ran  up 
beneath  the  thin  white  hairs  that  fell  upon  his  cheek.  As  I  looked 
round,  I  was  reminded  of  a  show  I  once  saw  at  the  Museum, — the 
Sleeping  Beauty,  I  think  they  called  it.  The  old  man's  sudden  break- 
ing out  in  this  way  turned  every  face  towards  him,  and  each  kept  his 
posture  as  if  changed  to  stone.  Our  Celtic  Bridget,  or  Biddy,  is  not 
a  foolish  fat  scullion  to  burst  out  crying  for  a  sentiment.  She  is  of 
the  serviceable,  red-handed,  broad-and-high-shouldered  type;  one 
of  those  imported  female  servants  who  are  known  in  public  by  their 
amorphous  style  of  person,  their  stoop  forwards,  and  a  headlong  and 
as  it  were  precipitous  walk, — the  waist  plunging  downward  into  the 
rocking  pelvis  at  every  heavy  footfall.  Bridget,  constituted  for 
action,  not  for  emotion,  was  about  to  deposit  a  plate  heaped  with 
something  upon  the  table,  when  I  saw  the  coarse  arm  stretched  by 
my  shoulder  arrested, — motionless  as  the  arm  of  a  terra-cotta  caryatid ; 
she  couldn't  set  the  plate  down  while  the  old  gentleman  was  speaking ! 

He  was  quite  silent  after  this,  still  wearing  the  slight  flush  on  his 
cheek.  Don't  ever  think  the  poetry  is  dead  in  an  old  man  because 
his  forehead  is  wrinkled,  or  that  his  manhood  has  left  him  when  his 
hand  trembles!  If  they  ever  were  there,  they  are  there  still! 

By  and  by  we  got  talking  again. Does  a  poet  love  the  verses 

written  through  him,  do  you  think,  Sir  ? — said  the  divinity-student. 

So  long  as  they  are  warm  from  his  mind,  carry  any  of  his  animal 
heat  about  them,  /  know  he  loves  them, — I  answered.  When  they 
have  had  time  to  cool,  he  is  more  indifferent. 

A  good  deal  as  it  is  with  buckwheat  cakes, — said  the  young 
fellow  whom  they  call  John. 

The  last  words,  only,  reached  the  ear  of  the  economically  organ- 
ized female  in  black  bombazine. Buckwheat  is  skerce  and  high, — 

she  remarked.  [Must  be  a  poor  relation  sponging  on  our  landlady, — 
pays  nothing, — so  she  must  stand  by  the 'guns  and  be  ready  to  repel 
boarders.] 

I  liked  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken,  for  I  had  some  things 
I  wanted  to  say,  and  so,  after  waiting  a  minute,  I  began  again. — 
I  don't  think  the  poems  I  read  you  sometimes  can  be  fairly  appre- 
ciated given  to  you  as  they  are  in  the  green  state. 

You  don't  know  what  I  mean  by  the  green  state?  Well, 

then,  I  will  tell  you.  Certain  things  are  good  for  nothing  until  they 


520  AMERICAN  PROSE 


have  been  kept  a  long  while;  and  some  are  good  for  nothing  until  they 
have  been  long  kept  and  used.  Of  the  first,  wine  is  the  illustrious  and 
immortal  example.  Of  those  which  must  be  kept  and  used  I  will 
name  three, — meerschaum  pipes,  violins,  and  poems.  The  meer- 
schaum is  but  a  poor  affair  until  it  has  burned  a  thousand  offerings 
to  the  cloud-compelling  deities.  It  comes  to  us  without  complexion 
or  flavor, — born  of  the  sea-foam,  like  Aphrodite,  but  colorless  as 
pallida  Mors  herself.  The  fire  is  lighted  in  its  central  shrine,  and 
gradually  the  juices  which  the  broad  leaves  of  the  Great  Vegetable 
had  sucked  up  from  an  acre  and  curdled  into  a  drachm  are  diffused 
through  its  thirsting  pores.  First  a  discoloration,  then  a  stain,  and 
at  last  a  rich,  glowing,  umber  tint  spreading  over  the  whole  surface. 
Nature  true  to  her  old  brown  autumnal  hue,  you  see, — as  true  in  the 
fire  of  the  meerschaum  as  in  the  sunshine  of  October!  And  then  the 
cumulative  wealth  of  its  fragrant  reminiscences!  he  who  inhales  its 
vapors  takes  a  thousand  whiffs  in  a  single  breath;  and  one  cannot 
touch  it  without  awakening  the  old  joys  that  hang  around  it  as  the 
smell  of  flowers  clings  to  the  dresses  of  the  daughters  of  the  house  of 
Farina! 

[Don't  think  I  use  a  meerschaum  myself,  for  /  do  not,  though  I 
have  owned  a  calumet  since  my  childhood,  which  from  a  naked  Pict 
(of  the  Mohawk  species)  my  grandsire  won,  together  with  a  toma- 
hawk and  beaded  knife-sheath;  paying  for  the  lot  with  a  bullet-mark 
on  his  right  cheek.  On  the  maternal  side  I  inherit  the  loveliest  silver- 
mounted  tobacco-stopper  you  ever  saw.  It  is  a  little  box-wood 
Triton,  carved  with  charming  liveliness  and  truth;  I  have  often  com- 
pared it  to  a  figure  in  Raphael's  "Triumph  of  Galatea."  It  came  to 
me  in  an  ancient  shagreen  case, — how  old  it  is  I  do  not  know, — but 
it  must  have  been  made  since  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  time.  If  you  are 
curious,  you  shall  see  it  any  day.  Neither  will  I  pretend  that  I  am 
so  unused  to  the  more  perishable  smoking  contrivance,  that  a  few 
whiffs  would  make  me  feel  as  if  I  lay  in  a  ground-swell  on  the  Bay  of 
Biscay.  I  am  not  unacquainted  with  that  fusiform,  spiral-wound 
bundle  of  chopped  stems  and  miscellaneous  incombustibles,  the  cigar, 
so  called,  of  the  shops, — which  to  "draw"  asks  the  suction-power  of  a 
nursling  infant  Hercules,  and  to  relish,  the  leathery  palate  of  an  old 
Silenus.  I  do  not  advise  you,  young  man,  even  if  my  illustration 
strike  your  fancy,  to  consecrate  the  flower  of  your  life  to  painting  the 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  521 

bowl  of  a  pipe,  for,  let  me  assure  you,  the  stain  of  a  reverie-breeding 
narcotic  may  strike  deeper  than  you  think  for.  I  have  seen  the  green 
leaf  of  early  promise  grow  brown  before  its  time  under  such  Nicotian 
regimen,  and  thought  the  umbered  meerschaum  was  dearly  bought 
at  the  cost  of  a  brain  enfeebled  and  a  will  enslaved.] 

Violins,  too, — the  sweet  old  Amati! — the  divine  Stradivarius! 
Played  on  by  ancient  maestros  until  the  bow-hand  lost  its  power  and 
the  flying  fingers  stiffened.  Bequeathed  to  the  passionate  young 
enthusiast,  who  made  it  whisper  his  hidden  love,  and  cry  his  inarticu- 
late longings,  and  scream  his  untold  agonies,  and  wail  his  monotonous 
despair.  Passed  from  his  dying  hand  to  the  cold  virtuoso,  who  let  it 
slumber  in  its  case  for  a  generation,  till,  when  his  hoard  was  broken 
up,  it  came  forth  once  more  and  rode  the  stormy  symphonies  of  royal 
orchestras,  beneath  the  rushing  bow  of  their  lord  and  leader.  Into 
lonely  prisons  with  improvident  artists;  into  convents  from  which 
arose,  day  and  night,  the  holy  hymns  with  which  its  tones  were 
blended;  and  back  again  to  orgies  in  which  it  learned  to  howl  and 
laugh  as  if  a  legion  of  devils  were  shut  up  in  it;  then  again  to  the 
gentle  dilettante  who  calmed  it  down  with  easy  melodies  until  it 
answered  him  softly  as  in  the  days  of  the  old  maestros.  And  so  given 
into  our  hands,  its  pores  all  full  of  music;  stained,  like  the  meer- 
schaum, through  and  through,  with  the  concentrated  hue  and  sweet- 
ness of  all  the  harmonies  which  have  kindled  and  faded  on  its  strings. 

Now  I  tell  you  a  poem  must  be  kept  and  used,  like  a  meerschaum, 
or  a  violin.  A  poem  is  just  as  porous  as  the  meerschaum; — the  more 
porous  it  is,  the  better.  I  mean  to  say  that  a  genuine  poem  is  capable 
of  absorbing  an  indefinite  amount  of  the  essence  of  our  own  humanity, 
— its  tenderness,  its  heroism,  its  regrets,  its  aspirations,  so  as  to  be 
gradually  stained  through  with  a  divine  secondary  color  derived  from 
ourselves.  So  you  see  it  must  take  tune  to  bring  the  sentiment  of  a 
poem  into  harmony  with  our  nature,  by  staining  ourselves  through 
every  thought  and  image  our  being  can  penetrate. 

Then  again  as  to  the  mere  music  of  a  new  poem;  why,  who  can 
expect  anything  more  from  that  than  from  the  music  of  a  violin  fresh 
from  the  maker's  hands  ?  Now  you  know  very  well  that  there  are 
no  less  than  fifty-eight  different  pieces  in  a  violin.  These  pieces  are 
strangers  to  each  other,  and  it  takes  a  century,  more  or  less,  to 
make  them  thoroughly  acquainted.  At  last  they  learn  to  vibrate  in 


522  AMERICAN  PROSE 


harmony,  and  the  instrument  becomes  an  organic  whole,  as  if  it  were  a 
great  seed-capsule  which  had  grown  from  a  garden-bed  in  Cremona, 
or  elsewhere.  Besides,  the  wood  is  juicy  and  full  of  sap  for  fifty  years 
or  so,  but  at  the  end  of  fifty  or  a  hundred  more  gets  tolerably  dry  and 
comparatively  resonant. 

Don't  you  see  that  all  this  is  just  as  true  of  a  poem  ?  Counting 
each  word  as  a  piece,  there  are  more  pieces  in  an  average  copy  of 
verses  than  in  a  violin.  The  poet  has  forced  all  these  words  together, 
and  fastened  them,  and  they  don't  understand  it  at  first.  But  let 
the  poem  be  repeated  aloud  and  murmured  over  in  the  mind's  muffled 
whisper  often  enough,  and  at  length  the  parts  become  knit  together 
in  such  absolute  solidarity  that  you  could  not  change  a  syllable  with- 
out the  whole  world's  crying  out  against  you  for  meddling  with  the 
harmonious  fabric.  Observe,  too,  how  the  drying  process  takes  place 
in  the  stuff  of  a  poem  just  as  in  that  of  a  violin.  Here  is  a  Tyrolese 
fiddle  that  is  just  coming  to  its  hundredth  birthday, — (Pedro  Klauss, 
Tyroli,  fecit,  1760,) — the  sap  is  pretty  well  out  of  it.  And  here  is  the 
song  of  an  old  poet  whom  Neasra  cheated: — 

"  Nox  erat,  et  ccelo  fulgebat  Luna  sereno 

Inter  minora  sidera, 

Cum  tu  magnorum  numen  laesura  deorum 
In  verba  jurabas  mea." 

Don't  you  perceive  the  sonorousness  of  these  old  dead  Latin  phrases  ? 
Now  I  tell  you  that  every  word  fresh  from  the  dictionary  brings  with 
it  a  certain  succulence;  and  though  I  cannot  expect  the  sheets  of  the 
"Pactolian,"  in  which,  as  I  told  you,  I  sometimes  print  my  verses, 
to  get  so  dry  as  the  crisp  papyrus  that  held  those  words  of  Horatius 
Flaccus,  yet  you  may  be  sure,  that,  while  the  sheets  are  damp,  and 
while  the  lines  hold  their  sap,  you  can't  fairly  judge  of  my  perform- 
ances, and  that,  if  made  of  the  true  stuff,  they  will  ring  better  after 
a  while. 

[There  was  silence  for  a  brief  space,  after  my  somewhat  elaborate 
exposition  of  these  self-evident  analogies.  Presently  a  person  turned 
towards  me — I  do  not  choose  to  designate  the  individual — and  said 
that  he  rather  expected  my  pieces  had  given  pretty  good  "sahtisfahc- 
tion." — I  had,  up  to  this  moment,  considered  this  complimentary 
phrase  as  sacred  to  the  use  of  secretaries  of  lyceums,  and,  as  it  has 
been  usually  accompanied  by  a  small  pecuniary  testimonial,  have 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  523 

acquired  a  certain  relish  for  this  moderately  tepid  and  unstimulating 
expression  of  enthusiasm.  But  as  a  reward  for  gratuitous  services, 
I  confess  I  thought  it  a  little  below  that  blood-heat  standard  which 
a  man's  breath  ought  to  have,  whether  silent,  or  vocal  and  articulate. 
I  waited  for  a  favorable  opportunity,  however,  before  making  the 
remarks  which  follow.] 

There  are  single  expressions,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  that 

fix  a  man's  position  for  you  before  you  have  done  shaking  hands  with 
him.  Allow  me  to  expand  a  little.  There  are  several  things,  very 
slight  in  themselves,  yet  implying  other  things  not  so  unimportant. 
Thus,  your  French  servant  has  devalise  your  premises  and  got  caught. 
Excusez,  says  the  sergent-de-ville,  as  he  politely  relieves  him  of  his  upper 
garments  and  displays  his  bust  in  the  full  daylight.  Good  shoulders 
enough, — a  little  marked, — traces  of  smallpox,  perhaps, — but  white. 
*  *  *  CracI  from  the  sergent-de-ville' s  broad  palm  on  the  white 
shoulder!  Now  look!  Vogue  la  galerel  Out  comes  the  big  red  V — 
mark  of  the  hot  iron; — he  had  blistered  it  out  pretty  nearly, — hadn't 
he?— the  old  rascal  VOLEUR,  branded  in  the  galleys  at  Marseilles! 
[Don't!  What  if  he  has  got  something  like  this? — nobody  supposes 
I  invented  such  a  story.] 

My  man  John,  who  used  to  drive  two  of  those  six  equine  females 
which  I  told  you  I  had  owned, — for,  look  you,  my  friends,  simple 
though  I  stand  here,  I  am  one  that  has  been  driven  in  his  "kerridge," 
— not  using  that  term,  as  liberal  shepherds  do,  for  any  battered  old 
shabby-genteel  go-cart  which  has  more  than  one  wheel,  but  meaning 
thereby  a  four-wheeled  vehicle  with  a  pole, — my  man  John,  I  say, 
was  a  retired  soldier.  He  retired  unostentatiously,  as  many  of  Her 
Majesty's  modest  servants  have  done  before  and  since.  John  told 
me,  that  when  an  officer  thinks  he  recognizes  one  of  these  retiring 
heroes,  and  would  know  if  he  has  really  been  in  the  service,  that  he 
may  restore  him,  if  possible,  to  a  grateful  country,  he  comes  suddenly 
upon  him,  and  says,  sharply,  "Strap!"  If  he  has  ever  worn  the 
shoulder-strap,  he  has  learned  the  reprimand  for  its  ill  adjustment. 
The  old  word  of  command  flashes  through  his  muscles,  and  his  hand 
goes  up  in  an  instant  to  the  place  where  the  strap  used  to  be. 

[I  was  all  the  time  preparing  for  my  grand  coup,  you  understand, 
but  I  saw  they  were  not  quite  ready  for  it,  and  so  continued, — always 
in  illustration  of  the  general  principle  I  had  laid  down.] 


524  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Yes,  odd  things  come  out  in  ways  that  nobody  thinks  of.  There 
was  a  legend,  that,  when  the  Danish  pirates  made  descents  upon  the 
English  coast,  they  caught  a  few  Tartars  occasionally,  in  the  shape 
of  Saxons,  who  would  not  let  them  go, — on  the  contrary,  insisted  on 
their  staying,  and,  to  make  sure  of  it,  treated  them  as  Apollo  treated 
Marsyas,  or  as  Bartholinus  has  treated  a  fellow-creature  in  his  title- 
page,  and,  having  divested  them  of  the  one  essential  and  perfectly 
tilting  garment,  indispensable  in  the  mildest  climates,  nailed  the  same 
on  the  church-door  as  we  do  the  banns  of  marriage,  in  terrorem. 

[There  was  a  laugh  at  this  among  some  of  the  young  folks;  but 
as  I  looked  at  our  landlady,  I  saw  that  "the  water  stood  in  her  eyes," 
as  it  did  in  Christiana's  when  the  interpreter  asked  her  about  the 
spider,  and  I  fancied,  but  wasn't  quite  sure,  that  the  schoolmistress 
blushed,  as  Mercy  did  in  the  same  conversation,  as  you  remember.] 

That  sounds  like  a  cock-and-bull-story, — said  the  young  fellow 
whom  they  call  John.  I  abstained  from  making  Hamlet's  remark  to 
Horatio,  and  continued. 

Not  long  since,  the  church-wardens  were  repairing  and  beautify- 
ing an  old  Saxon  church  in  a  certain  English  village,  and  among  other 
things  thought  the  doors  should  be  attended  to.  One  of  them  par- 
ticularly, the  front-door,  looked  very  badly,  crusted,  as  it  were,  and 
as  if  it  would  be  all  the  better  for  scraping.  There  happened  to  be  a 
microscopist  in  the  village  who  had  heard  the  old  pirate  story,  and 
he  took  it  into  his  head  to  examine  the  crust  on  this  door.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  it;  it  was  a  genuine  historical  document,  of  the 
Ziska  drum-head  pattern, — a  real  cut-is  humana,  stripped  from  some 
old  Scandinavian  filibuster,  and  the  legend  was  true. 

My  friend,  the  Professor,  settled  an. important  historical  and 
financial  question  once  by  the  aid  of  an  exceedingly  minute  fragment 
of  a  similar  document.  Behind  the  pane  of  plate-glass  which  bore 
his  name  and  title  burned  a  modest  lamp,  signifying  to  the  passers-by 
that  at  all  hours  of  the  night  the  slightest  favors  (or  fevers)  were 
welcome.  A  youth  who  had  freely  partaken  of  the  cup  which  cheers 
and  likewise  inebriates,  following  a  moth-like  impulse  very  natural 
under  the  circumstances,  dashed  his  fist  at  the  light  and  quenched  the 
meek  luminary, — breaking  through  the  plate-glass,  of  course,  to 
reach  it.  Now  I  don't  want  to  go  into  minutia  at  table,  you  know, 
but  a  naked  hand  can  no  more  go  through  a  pane  of  thick  glass  with- 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  525 

out  leaving  some  of  its  cuticle,  to  say  the  least,  behind  it,  than  a 
butterfly  can  go  through  a  sausage-machine  without  looking  the 
worse  for  it.  The  Professor  gathered  up  the  fragments  of  glass,  and 
with  them  certain  very  minute  but  entirely  satisfactory  documents 
which  would  have  identified  and  hanged  any  rogue  in  Christendom 
who  had  parted  with  them. — The  historical  question,  Who  did  it? 
and  the  financial  question,  Who  paid  for  it  ?  were  both  settled  before 
the  new  lamp  was  lighted  the  next  evening. 

You  see,  my  friends,  what  immense  conclusions,  touching  our 
lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor,  may  be  reached  by  means 
of  very  insignificant  premises.  This  is  eminently  true  of  manners 
and  forms  of  speech;  a  movement  or  a  phrase  often  tells  you  all  you 
want  to  know  about  a  person.  Thus,  "How's  your  health?"  (com- 
monly pronounced  haaltJi) — instead  of,  How  do  you  do  ?  or,  How  are 
you  ?  Or  calling  your  little  dark  entry  a  "  hall,"  and  your  old  rickety 
one-horse  wagon  a  "kerridge."  Or  telling  a  person  who  has  been 
trying  to  please  you  that  he  has  given  you  pretty  good  "sahtisfahc- 
tion."  Or  saying  that  you  "remember  of"  such  a  thing,  or  that  you 
have  been  "stoppin"'  at  Deacon  Somebody's, — and  other  such 
expressions.  One  of  my  friends  had  a  little  marble  statuette  of  Cupid 
in  the  parlor  of  his  country-house, — bow,  arrows,  wings,  and  all  com- 
plete. A  visitor,  indigenous  to  the  region,  looking  pensively  at  the 
figure,  asked  the  lady  of  the  house  "if  that  was  a  statoo  of  her  deceased 
infant  ?  "  What  a  delicious,  though  somewhat  voluminous  biography, 
social,  educational,  and  aesthetic  in  that  brief  question! 

[Please  observe  with  what  Machiavellian  astuteness  I  smuggled 
in  the  particular  offence  which  it  was  my  object  to  hold  up  to  my 
fellow-boarders,  without  too  personal  an  attack  on  the  individual  at 
whose  door  it  lay.] 

That  was  an  exceedingly  dull  person  who  made  the  remark,  Ex 
pede  Herculem.  He  might  as  well  have  said,  "From  a  peck  of  apples 
you  may  judge  of  the  barrel."  EZPEDE,  to  be  surp!  Read,  instead, 
Ex  ungue  minimi  digiti  pedis,  Herculem,  ejusque  patrem,  matrem,  avos 
et  proavos,  filios,  nepotes  et  pronepotes!  Talk  to  me  about  your  Sos 
irov  OTW!  Tell  me  about  Cuvier's  getting  up  a  megatherium  from  a 
tooth,  or  Agassiz's  drawing  a  portrait  of  an  undiscovered  fish  from  a 
single  scale!  As  the  "O"  revealed  Giotto, — as  the  one  word  "moi" 
betrayed  the  Stratford-atte-Bowe-taught  Anglais, — so  all  a  man's 


526  AMERICAN  PROSE 


antecedents  and  possibilities  are  summed  up  in  a  single  utterance 
which  gives  at  once  the  gauge  of  his  education  and  his  mental  organi- 
zation. 

Possibilities,  Sir? — said  the  divinity-student;  can't  a  man  who 
says  Hadiv?  arrive  at  distinction? 

Sir, — I  replied, — in  a  republic  all  things  are  possible.  But  the 
man  with  a  future  has  almost  of  necessity  sense  enough  to  see  that  any 
odious  trick  of  speech  or  manners  must  be  got  rid  of.  Doesn't  Sydney 
Smith  say  that  a  public  man  in  England  never  gets  over  a  false  quan- 
tity uttered  in  early  life  ?  Our  public  men  are  in  little  danger  of  this 
fatal  misstep,  as  few  of  them  are  in  the  habit  of  introducing  Latin  into 
their  speeches, — for  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  But  they  are  bound 
to  speak  decent  English, — unless,  indeed,  they  are  rough  old  cam- 
paigners, like  General  Jackson  or  General  Taylor;  in  which  case,  a 
few  scars  on  Priscian's  head  are  pardoned  to  old  fellows  who  have 
quite  as  many  on  their  own,  and  a  constituency  of  thirty  empires  is 
not  at  all  particular,  provided  they  do  not  swear  in  their  Presidential 
Messages. 

However,  it  is  not  for  me  to  talk.  I  have  made  mistakes  enough 
in  conversation  and  print.  I  never  find  them  out  until  they  are 
stereotyped,  and  then  I  think  they  rarely  escape  me.  I  have  no 
doubt  I  shall  make  half  a  dozen  slips  before  this  breakfast  is  over, 
and  remember  them  all  before  another.  How  one  does  tremble  with 
rage  at  his  own  intense  momentary  stupidity  about  things  he  knows 
perfectly  well,  and  to  think  how  he  lays  himself  open  to  the  imperti- 
nences of  the  captatores  verborum,  those  useful  but  humble  scavengers 
of  the  language,  whose  business  it  is  to  pick  up  what  might  offend  or 
injure,  and  remove  it,  hugging  and  feeding  on  it  as  they  go!  I  don't 
want  to  speak  too  slightingly  of  these  verbal  critics; — how  can  I,  who 
am  so  fond  of  talking  about  errors  and  vulgarisms  of  speech  ?  Only 
there  is  a  difference  between  those  clerical  blunders  which  almost 
every  man  commits,  knowing  better,  and  that  habitual  grossness  or 
meanness  of  speech  which  is  unendurable  to  educated  persons,  from 
anybody  that  wears  silk  or  broadcloth. 

[I  write  down  the  above  remarks  this  morning,  January  26th, 
making  this  record  of  the  date  that  nobody  may  think  it  was  written 
in  wrath,  on  account  of  any  particular  grievance  suffered  from  the 
invasion  of  any  individual  scarab&us  grammaticus.} 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  527 

1  wonder  if  anybody  ever  finds  fault  with  anything  I  say  at 

this  table  when  it  is  repeated  ?  I  hope  they  do,  I  am  sure.  I  should 
be  very  certain  that  I  had  said  nothing  of  much  significance,  if  they 
did  not. 

Did  you  never,  in  walking  in  the  fields,  come  across  a  large  flat 
stone,  which  had  lain,  nobody  knows  how  long,  just  where  you  found 
it,  with  the  grass  forming  a  little  hedge,  as  it  were,  all  round  it,  close 
to  its  edges, — and  have  you  not,  in  obedience  to  a  kind  of  feeling  that 
told  you  it  had  been  lying  there  long  enough,  insinuated  your  stick 
or  your  foot  or  your  fingers  under  its  edge  and  turned  it  over  as  a 
housewife  turns  a  cake,  when  she  says  to  herself,  "It's  done  brown 
enough  by  this  time  "  ?  What  an  odd  revelation,  and  what  an  unfore- 
seen and  unpleasant  surprise  to  a  small  community,  the  very  existence 
of  which  you  had  not  suspected,  until  the  sudden  dismay  and  scatter- 
ing among  its  members  produced  by  your  turning  the  old  stone  over! 
Blades  of  grass  flattened  down,  colorless,  matted  together,  as  if  they 
had  been  bleached  and  ironed;  hideous  crawling  creatures,  some  of 
them  coleopterous  or  horny-shelled, — turtle-bugs  one  wants  to  call 
them;  some  of  them  softer,  but  cunningly  spread  out  and  compressed 
like  Lepine  watches;  (Nature  never  loses  a  crack  or  a  crevice,  mind 
you,  or  a  joint  in  a  tavern  bedstead,  but  she  always  has  one  of  her  flat- 
pattern  live  timekeepers  to  slide  into  it;)  black,  glossy  crickets,  with 
their  long  filaments  sticking  out  like  the  whips  of  four-horse  stage- 
coaches; motionless,  slug-like  creatures,  young  larvae,  perhaps  more 
horrible  in  their  pulpy  stillness  than  even  in  the  infernal  wriggle  of 
maturity!  But  no  sooner  is  the  stone  turned  and  the  wholesome  light 
of  day  let  upon  this  compressed  and  blinded  community  of  creeping 
things,  than  all  of  them  which  enjoy  the  luxury  of  legs — and  some  of 
them  have  a  good  many — rush  round  wildly,  butting  each  other  and 
everything  in  their  way,  and  end  in  a  general  stampede  for  under- 
ground retreats  from  the  region  poisoned  by  sunshine.  Next  year  you 
will  find  the  grass  growing  tall  and  green  where  the  stone  lay;  the 
ground-bird  builds  her  nest  where  the  beetle  had  his  hole ;  the  dande- 
lion and  the  buttercup  are  growing  there,  and  the  broad  fans  of  insect- 
angels  open  and  shut  over  their  golden  disks,  as  the  rhythmic  waves 
of  blissful  consciousness  pulsate  through  their  glorified  being. 

The  young  fellow  whom  they  call  John  saw  fit  to  say,  in  his 

very  familiar  way, — at  which  I  do  not  choose  to  take  offence,  but 


528  AMERICAN  PROSE 


which  I  sometimes  think  it  necessary  to  repress, — that  I  was  coming 
it  rather  strong  on  the  butterflies. 

No,  I  replied;  there  is  meaning  in  each  of  those  images, — the 
butterfly  as  well  as  the  others.  The  stone  is  ancient  error.  The  grass 
is  human  nature  borne  down  and  bleached  of  all  its  colour  by  it.  The 
shapes  which  are  found  beneath  are  the  crafty  beings  that  thrive  in 
darkness,  and  the  weaker  organisms  kept  helpless  by  it.  He  who 
turns  the  stone  over  is  whosoever  puts  the  staff  of  truth  to  the  old 
lying  incubus,  no  matter  whether  he  do  it  with  a  serious  face  or  a 
laughing  one.  The  next  year  stands  for  the  coming  time.  Then  shall 
the  nature  which  had  lain  blanched  and  broken  rise  in  its  full  stature 
and  native  hues  in  the  sunshine.  Then  shall  God's  minstrels  build 
their  nests  in  the  hearts  of  a  newborn  humanity.  Then  shall  beauty — 
Divinity  taking  outlines  and  color — light  upon  the  souls  of  men  as  the 
butterfly,  image  of  the  beatified  spirit  rising  from  the  dust,  soars 
from  the  shell  that  held  a  poor  grub,  which  would  never  have  found 
wings,  had  not  the  stone  been  lifted. 

You  never  need  think  you  can  turn  over  any  old  falsehood  without 
a  terrible  squirming  and  scattering  of  the  horrid  little  population  that 
dwells  under  it. 

Every  real  thought  on  every  real  subject  knocks  the  wind 

out  of  somebody  or  other.  As  soon  as  his  breath  comes  back,  he  very 
probably  begins  to  expend  it  in  hard  words.  These  are  the  best 
evidence  a  man  can  have  that  he  has  said  something  it  was  time  to 
say.  Dr.  Johnson  was  disappointed  in  the  effect  of  one  of  his  pamph- 
lets. "I  think  I  have  not  been  attacked  enough  for  it,"  he  said; — 
"attack  is  the  reaction;  I  never  think  I  have  hit  hard  unless  it 
rebounds." 

If  a  fellow  attacked  my  opinions  in  print,  would  I  reply? 

Not  I.  Do  you  think  I  don't  understand  what  my  friend,  the  Pro- 
fessor, long  ago  called  the  hydrostatic  paradox  of  controversy  ? 

Don't  know  what  that  means  ? — Well,  I  will  tell  you.  You  know, 
that,  if  you  had  a  bent  tube,  one  arm  of  which  was  of  the  size  of  a 
pipe-stem,  and  the  other  big  enough  to  hold  the  ocean,  water  would 
stand  at  the  same  height  in  one  as  in  the  other.  Controversy  equal- 
izes fools  and  wise  men  in  the  same  way, — and  the  fools  know  it. 

No,  but  I  often  read  what  they  say  about  other  people.  There 
are  about  a  dozen  phrases  which  all  come  tumbling  along  together, 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  529 

like  the  tongs,  and  the  shovel,  and  the  poker,  and  the  brush,  and  the 
bellows,  in  one  of  those  domestic  avalanches  that  everybody  knows. 
If  you  get  one,  you  get  the  whole  lot. 

What  are  they  ? — Oh,  that  depends  a  good  deal  on  latitude  and 
longitude.  Epithets  follow  the  isothermal  lines  pretty  accurately. 
Grouping  them  in  two  families,  one  finds  himself  a  clever,  genial, 
witty,  wise,  brilliant,  sparkling,  thoughtful,  distinguished,  celebrated, 
illustrious  scholar  and  perfect  gentleman,  and  first  writer  of  the  age; 
or  a  dull,  foolish,  wicked,  pert,  shallow,  ignorant,  insolent,  traitorous, 
black-hearted  outcast,  and  disgrace  to  civilization. 

What  do  I  think  determines  the  set  of  phrases  a  man  gets? — 
Well,  I  should  say  a  set  of  influences  something  like  these. — ist.  Rela- 
tionships, political,  religious,  social,  domestic.  2d.  Oysters;  in  the 
form  of  suppers  given  to  gentlemen  connected  with  criticism.  I  believe 
in  the  school,  the  college,  and  the  clergy;  but  my  sovereign  logic,  for 
regulating  public  opinion — which  means  commonly  the  opinion  of 
half  a  dozen  of  the  critical  gentry — is  the  following:  Major  proposi- 
tion. Oysters  au  naturel.  Minor  proposition.  The  same  "scal- 
loped." Conclusion.  That (here  insert  entertainer's  name)  is 

clever,  witty,  wise,  brilliant, — and  the  rest. 

No,  it  isn't  exactly  bribery.  One  man  has  oysters,  and 

another  epithets.  It  is  an  exchange  of  hospitalities;  one  gives  a 
"spread"  on  linen,  and  the  other  on  paper, — that  is  all.  Don't  you 
think  you  and  I  should  be  apt  to  do  just  so,  if  we  were  in  the  critical 
line  ?  I  am  sure  I  couldn't  resist  the  softening  influences  of  hospi- 
tality. I  don't  like  to  dine  out,  you  know, — I  dine  so  well  at  our 
own  table,  [our  landlady  looked  radiant,]  and  the  company  is  so 
pleasant  [a  rustling  movement  of  satisfaction  among  the  boarders]; 
but  if  I  did  partake  of  a  man's  salt,  with  such  additions  as  that  article 
of  food  requires  to  make  it  palatable,  I  could  never  abuse  him,  and 
if  I  had  to  speak  of  him,  I  suppose  I  should  hang  my  set  of  jingling 
epithets  round  him  like  a  string  of  sleigh-bells.  Good  feeling  helps 
society  to  make  liars  of  most  of  us, — not  absolute  liars,  but  such  care- 
less handlers  of  truth  that  its  sharp  corners  get  terrible  rounded. 
I  love  truth  as  chief est  among  the  virtues;  I  trust  it  runs  in  my  blood; 
but  I  would  never  be  a  critic,  because  I  know  I  could  not  always  tell 
it.  I  might  write  a  criticism  of  a  book  that  happened  to  please  me; 
that  is  another  matter. 


53°  AMERICAN  PROSE 


— Listen,  Benjamin  Franklin  I  This  is  for  you,  and  such  others 
of  tender  age  as  you  may  tell  it  to. 

\\Tien  we  are  as  yet  small  children,  long  before  the  time  when  those 
two  grown  ladies  offer  us  the  choice  of  Hercules,  there  comes  up  to 
us  a  youthful  angel,  holding  in  his  right  hand  cubes  like  dice,  and 
in  his  left  spheres  like  marbles.  The  cubes  are  of  stainless  ivory, 
and  on  each  is  written  in  letters  of  gold — TRUTH.  The  spheres  are 
veined  and  streaked  and  spotted  beneath,  with  a  dark  crimson  flush 
above,  where  the  light  falls  on  them,  and  hi  a  certain  aspect  you  can 
make  out  upon  every  one  of  them  the  three  letters  L,  I,  E.  The 
child  to  whom  they  are  offered  very  probably  clutches  at  both.  The 
spheres  are  the  most  convenient  things  in  the  world;  they  roll  with 
the  least  possible  impulse  just  where  the  child  would  have  them. 
The  cubes  will  not  roll  at  all;  they  have  a  great  talent  for  standing 
still,  and  always  keep  right  side  up.  But  very  soon  the  young 
philosopher  finds  that  things,  which  roll  so  easily  are  very  apt  to  roll 
into  the  wrong  corner,  and  to  get  out  of  his  way  when  he  most  wants 
them,  while  he  always  knows  where  to  find  the  others,  which  stay 
where  they  are  left.  Thus  he  learns — thus  we  learn — to  drop  the 
streaked  and  speckled  globes  of  falsehood  and  to  hold  fast  the  white 
angular  blocks  of  truth.  But  then  comes  Timidity,  and  after  her 
Good-nature,  and  last  of  all  Polite-behavior,  all  insisting  that  truth 
must  roll,  or  nobody  can  do  anything  with  it;  and  so  the  first  with  her 
coarse  rasp,  and  the  second  with  her  broad  file,  and  the  third  with  her 
silken  sleeve,  do  so  round  off  and  smooth  and  polish  the  snow-white 
cubes  of  truth,  that,  when  they  have  got  a  little  dingy  by  use,  it 
becomes  hard  to  tell  them  from  the  rolling  spheres  of  falsehood. 

The  schoolmistress  was  polite  enough  to  say  that  she  was  pleased 
with  this,  and  that  she  would  read  it  to  her  little  flock  the  next  day. 
But  she  should  tell  the  children,  she  said,  that  there  were  better 
reasons  for  truth  than  could  be  found  in  mere  experience  of  its  con- 
venience and  the  inconvenience  of  lying. 

Yes, — I  said, — but  education  always  begins  through  the  senses, 
and  works  up  to  the  idea  of  absolute  right  and  wrong.  The  first  thing 
the  child  has  to  learn  about  this  matter  is,  that  lying  is  unprofitable,— 
afterwards,  that  it  is  against  the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  universe. 
— Do  I  think  that  the  particular  form  of  lying  often  seen  hi 
newspapers,  under  the  title,  "From  our  Foreign  Correspondent," 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  531 

does  any  harm  ? — Why,  no, — I  don't  know  that  it  does.  I  suppose 
it  doesn't  really  deceive  people  any  more  than  the  "Arabian  Nights" 
or  "Gulliver's  Travels"  do.  Sometimes  the  writers  compile  too  care- 
lessly, though,  and  mix  up  facts  out  of  geographies,  and  stories  out  of 
the  penny  papers,  so  as  to  mislead  those  who  are  desirous  of  informa- 
tion. I  cut  a  piece  out  of  one  of  the  papers,  the  other  day,  which 
contains  a  number  of  improbabilities,  and,  I  suspect,  misstatements. 

I  will  send  up  and  get  it  for  you,  if  you  would  like  to  hear  it. Ah, 

this  is  it;  it  is  headed 

"OUR  SUMATRA  CORRESPONDENCE 

"This  island  is  now  the  property  of  the  Stamford  family, — having 

been  won,  it  is  said,  in  a  raffle,  by  Sir Stamford,  during  the 

stock-gambling  mania  of  the  South-Sea  Scheme.  The  history  of  this 
gentleman  may  be  found  in  an  interesting  series  of  questions  (unfor- 
tunately not  yet  answered)  contained  in  the  'Notes  and  Queries.' 
This  island  is  entirely  surrounded  by  the  ocean,  which  here  contains 
a  large  amount  of  saline  substance,  crystallizing  in  cubes  remarkable 
for  their  symmetry,  and  frequently  displays  on  its  surface,  during 
calm  weather,  the  rainbow  tints  of  the  celebrated  South-Sea  bubbles. 
The  summers  are  oppressively  hot,  and  the  winters  very  probably 
cold;  but  this  fact  cannot  be  ascertained  precisely,  as,  for  some  peculiar 
reason,  the  mercury  in  these  latitudes  never  shrinks,  as  in  more  north- 
ern regions,  and  thus  the  thermometer  is  rendered  useless  in  winter. 

"The  principal  vegetable  productions  of  the  island  are  the  pepper 
tree  and  the  bread-fruit  tree.  Pepper  being  very  abundantly  pro- 
duced, a  benevolent  society  was  organized  in  London  during  the  last 
century  for  supplying  the  natives  with  vinegar  and  oysters,  as  an 
addition  to  that  delightful  condiment.  [Note  received  from  Dr.  D.  P.] 
It  is  said,  however,  that,  as  the  oysters  were  of  the  kind  called  natives 
in  England,  the  natives  of  Sumatra,  in  obedience  to  a  natural  instinct, 
refused  to  touch  them,  and  confined  themselves  entirely  to  the  crew 
of  the  vessel  in  which  they  were  brought  over.  This  information  was 
received  from  one  of  the  oldest  inhabitants,  a  native  himself,  and 
exceedingly  fond  of  missionaries.  He  is  said  also  to  be  very  skilful 
in  the  cuisine  peculiar  to  the  island. 

"During  the  season  of  gathering  the  pepper,  the  persons  employed 
are  subject  to  various  incommodities,  the  chief  of  which  is  violent 


532  AMERICAN  PROSE 


and  long-continued  sternutation,  or  sneezing.  Such  is  the  vehemence 
of  these  attacks,  that  the  unfortunate  subjects  of  them  are  often  driven 
backwards  for  great  distances  at  immense  speed,  on  the  well-known 
principle  of  the  zeolipile.  Not  being  able  to  see  where  they  are  going, 
these  poor  creatures  dash  themselves  to  pieces  against  the  rocks  or 
are  precipitated  over  the  cliffs,  and  thus  many  valuable  lives  are  lost 
annually.  As,  during  the  whole  pepper-harvest,  they  feed  exclusively 
on  this  stimulant,  they  become  exceedingly  irritable.  The  smallest 
injury  is  resented  with  ungovernable  rage.  A  young  man  suffering 
from  the  pepper-fever,  as  it  is  called,  cudgelled  another  most  severely 
for  appropriating  a  superannuated  relative  of  trifling  value,  and  was 
only  pacified  by  having  a  present  made  him  of  a  pig  of  that  peculiar 
species  of  swine  called  the  Peccam  by  the  Catholic  Jews,  who,  it  is 
well  known,  abstain  from  swine's  flesh  in  imitation  of  the  Mahometan 
Buddhists. 

"  The  bread-tree  grows  abundantly.  Its  branches  are  well  known 
to  Europe  and  America  under  the  familiar  name  of  maccaroni.  The 
smaller  twigs  are  called  vermicelli.  They  have  a  decided  animal 
flavor,  as  may  be  observed  in  the  soups  containing  them.  Maccaroni, 
being  tubular,  is  the  favorite  habitat  of  a  very  dangerous  insect, 
which  is  rendered  peculiarly  ferocious  by  being  boiled.  The  govern- 
ment of  the  island,  therefore,  never  allows  a  stick  of  it  to  be  exported 
without  being  accompanied  by  a  piston  with  which  its  cavity  may  at 
any  time  be  thoroughly  swept  out.  These  are  commonly  lost  or 
stolen  before  the  maccaroni  arrives  among  us.  It  therefore  always 
contains  many  of  these  insects,  which,  however,  generally  die  of  old 
age  in  the  shops,  so  that  accidents  from  this  source  are  comparatively 
rare. 

"The  fruit  of  the  bread-tree  consists  principally  of  hot  rolls. 
The  buttered-mufnn  variety  is  supposed  to  be  a  hybrid  with  the 
cocoa-nut  palm,  the  cream  found  on  the  milk  of  the  cocoa-nut  exuding 
from  the  hybrid  in  the  shape  of  butter,  just  as  the  ripe  fruit  is  splitting, 
so  as  to  fit  it  for  the  tea-table,  where  it  is  commonly  served  up  with 
cold" 

There, — I  don't  want  to  read  any  more  of  it.    You  see  that 

many  of  these  statements  are  highly  improbable. — No,  I  shall  not 
mention  the  paper. — No,  neither  of  them  wrote  it,  though  it  reminds 
me  of  the  style  of  these  popular  writers.  I  think  the  fellow  who  wrote 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  533 

it  must  have  been  reading  some  of  their  stories,  and  got  them  mixed 
up  with  his  history  and  geography.  I  don't  suppose  he  lies; — he  sells 
it  to  the  editor,  who  knows  how  many  squares  ofi  "Sumatra"  is. 

The  editor,  who  sells  it  to  the  public By  the  way,  the  papers  have 

been  very  civil — haven't  they  ? — to  the — the — what  d'  ye  call  it  ? — 
"Northern  Magazine," — isn't  it? — got  up  by  some  of  those  Come- 
outers,  down  East,  as  an  organ  for  their  local  peculiarities. 

The  Professor  has  been  to  see  me.    Came  in,  glorious,  at 

about  twelve  o'clock,  last  night.  Said  he  had  been  with  "the  boys." 
On  inquiry,  found  that  "the  boys"  were  certain  baldish  and  grayish 
old  gentlemen  that  one  sees  or  hears  of  in  various  important  stations 
of  society.  The  Professor  is  one  of  the  same  set,  but  he  always  talks 

as  if  he  had  been  out  of  college  about  ten  years,  whereas 

[Each  of  these  dots  was  a  little  nod,  which  the  company  understood, 
as  the  reader  will,  no  doubt.]  He  calls  them  sometimes  "the  boys," 
and  sometimes  "the  old  fellows."  Call  him  by  the  latter  title,  and 
.  see  how  he  likes  it. — Well,  he  came  in  last  night,  glorious,  as  I  was 
saying.  Of  course  I  don't  mean  vinously  exalted;  he  drinks,  little 
wine  on  such  occasions,  and  is  well  known  to  all  the  Peters  and 
Patricks  as  the  gentleman  who  always  has  indefinite  quantities  of 
black  tea  to  kill  any  extra  glass  of  red  claret  he  may  have  swallowed. 
But  the  Professor  says  he  always  gets  tipsy  on  old  memories  at  these 
gatherings.  He  was,  I  forgot  how  many  years  old  when  he  went  to 
the  meeting;  just  turned  of  twenty  now, — he  said.  He  made  various 
youthful  proposals  to  me,  including  a  duet  under  the  landlady's 
daughter's  window.  He  had  just  learned  a  trick,  he  said,  of  one  of 
"the  boys,"  of  getting  a  splendid  bass  out  of  a  door-panel  by  rubbing 
it  with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Offered  to  sing  "The  sky  is  bright," 
accompanying  himself  on  the  front-door,  if  I  would  go  down  and  help 
in  the  chorus.  Said  there  never  was  such  a  set  of  fellows  as  the  old 
boys  of  the  set  he  has  been  with.  Judges,  mayors,  Congress-men, 
Mr.  Speakers,  leaders  in  science,  clergymen  better  than  famous,  and 
famous  too,  poets  by  the  half-dozen,  singers  with  voices  like  angels, 
financiers,  wits,  three  of  the  best  laughers  in  the  Commonwealth, 
engineers,  agriculturists, — all  forms  of  talent  and  knowledge  he  pre- 
tended were  represented  in  that  meeting.  Then  he  began  to  quote 
Byron  about  Santa  Croce,  and  maintained  that  he  could  "furnish 
out  creation"  in  all  its  details  from  that  set  of  his.  He  would  like  to 


534  AMERICAN  PROSE 


have  the  whole  boodle  of  them,  (I  remonstrated  against  this  word,  but 
the  Professor  said  it  was  a  diabolish  good  word,  and  he  would  have 
no  other,)  with  their  wives  and  children,  shipwrecked  on  a  remote 
island,  just  to  see  how  splendidly  they  would  reorganize  society. 
They  could  build  a  city, — they  have  done  it;  make  constitutions  and 
laws ;  establish  churches  and  lyceums ;  teach  and  practise  the  healing 
art;  instruct  in  every  department ;  found  observatories;  create  com- 
merce and  manufactures;  write  songs  and  hymns,  and  sing  'em,  and 
make  instruments  to  accompany  the  songs  with;  lastly,  publish  a 
journal  almost  as  good  as  the  "Northern  Magazine,"  edited  by  the 
Come-outers.  There  was  nothing  they  were  not  up  to,  from  a  christ- 
ening to  a  hanging;  the  last,  to  be  sure,  could  never  be  called  for, 
unless  some  stranger  got  in  among  them. 

1  let  the  Professor  talk  as  long  as  he  liked;  it  didn't  make 

much  difference  to  me  whether  it  was  all  truth,  or  partly  made  up 
of  pale  Sherry  and  similar  elements.  All  at  once  he  jumped  up  and 
said, —  , 

Don't  you  want  to  hear  what  I  just  read  to  the  boys  ? 

I  have  had  questions  of  a  similar  character  asked  me  before, 
occasionally.  A  man  of  iron  mould  might  perhaps  say,  No!  I  am 
not  a  man  of  iron  mould,  and  said  that  I  should  be  delighted. 

The  Professor  then  read — with  that  slightly  sing-song  cadence 
which  is  observed  to  be  common  in  poets  reading  their  own  verses — 
the  following  stanzas;  holding  them  at  a  focal  distance  of  about  two 
feet  and  a  half,  with  an  occasional  movement  back  or  forward  for 
better  adjustment,  the  appearance  of  which  has  been  likened  by  some 
impertinent  young  folks  to  that  of  the  act  of  playing  on  the  trombone. 
His  eye-sight  was  never  better;  I  have  his  word  for  it. 

MARE  RUBRUM. 

Flash  out  a  stream  of  blood-red  wine! — 

For  I  would  drink  to  other  days; 
And  brighter  shall  their  memory  shine, 

Seen  flaming  through  its  crimson  blaze. 
The  roses  die,  the  summers  fade; 

But  every  ghost  of  boyhood's  dream 
By  Nature's  magic  power  is  laid 

To  sleep  beneath  this  blood-red  stream. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  535 

It  filled  the  purple  grapes  that  lay 

And  drank  the  splendors  of  the  sun 
Where  the  long  summer's  cloudless  day 

Is  mirrored  in  the  broad  Garonne; 
It  pictures  still  the  bacchant  shapes 

That  saw  their  hoarded  sunlight  shed, — 
The  maidens  dancing  on  the  grapes, — 

Their  milk-white  ankles  splashed  with  red. 

Beneath  these  waves  of  crimson  lie, 

In  rosy  fetters  prisoned  fast, 
Those  flitting  shapes  that  never  die, 

The  swift- winged  visions  of  the  past. 
Kiss  but  the  crystal's  mystic  rim, 

Each  shadow  rends  its  flowery  chain, 
Springs  in  a  bubble  from  its  brim 

And  walks  the  chambers  of  the  brain. 

Poor  Beauty!  time  and  fortune's  wrong 

No  form  nor  feature  may  withstand, — 
Thy  wrecks  are  scattered  all  along, 

Like  emptied  sea-shells  on  the  sand; — 
Yet,  sprinkled  with  this  blushing  rain, 

The  dust  restores  each  blooming  girl, 
As  if  the  sea-shells  moved  again 

Their  glistening  lips  of  pink  and  pearl. 

Here  lies  the  home  of  school-boy  life, 

With  creaking  stair  and  wind-swept  hall, 
And,  scarred  by  many  a  truant  knife, 

Our  old  initials  on  the  wall; 
Here  rest — their  keen  vibrations  mute — 

The  shout  of  voices  known  so  well, 
The  ringing  laugh,  the  wailing  flute, 

The  chiding  of  the  sharp-tongued  bell. 

Here,  clad  in  burning  robes,  are  laid 

Life's  blossomed  joys,  untimely  shed; 
And  here  those  cherished  forms  have  strayed 

We  miss  awhile,  and  call  them  dead. 
What  wizard  fills  the  maddening  glass  ? 

What  soil  the  enchanted  clusters  grew, 
That  buried  passions  wake  and  pass 

In  beaded  drops  of  fiery  dew  ? 


536  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Nay,  take  the  cup  of  blood-red  wine, — 

Our  hearts  can  boast  a  warmer  glow, 
Filled  from  a  vintage  more  divine, — 

Calmed,  but  not  chilled  by  winter's  snow! 
To-night  the  palest  wave  we  sip 

Rich  as  the  priceless  draught  shall  be 
That  wet  the  bride  of  Cana's  lip, — 

The  wedding  wine  of  Galilee! 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

FROM 

LEAVES  FROM  MY  JOURNAL  IN  ITALY  AND  ELSEWHERE 


The  sea  was  meant  to  be  looked  at  from  shore,  as  mountains  are 
from  the  plain.  Lucretius  made  this  discovery  long  ago,  and  was 
blunt  enough  to  blurt  it  forth,  romance  and  sentiment — in  other 
words,  the  pretence  of  feeling  what  we  do  not  feel — being  inventions 
of  a  later  day.  To  be  sure,  Cicero  used  to  twaddle  about  Greek 
literature  and  philosophy,  much  as  people  do  about  ancient  art  now-a- 
days;  but  I  rather  sympathize  with  those  stout  old  Romans  who 
despised  both,  and  believed  that  to  found  an  empire  was  as  grand 
an  achievement  as  to  build  an  epic  or  to  carve  a  statue.  But  though 
there  might  have  been  twaddle,  (as  why  not,  since  there  was  a 
Senate?)  I  rather  think  Petrarch  was  the  first  choragus  of  that 
sentimental  dance  which  so  long  led  young  folks  away  from  the 
realities  of  life  like  the  piper  of  Hamelin,  and  whose  succession  ended, 
let  us  hope,  with  Chateaubriand.  But  for  them,  Byron,  whose  real 
strength  lay  in  his  sincerity,  would  never  have  talked  about  the 
"sea  bounding  beneath  him  like  a  steed  that  knows  his  rider,"  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  Even  if  it  had  been  true,  steam  has  been  as 
fatal  to  that  part  of  the  romance  of  the  sea  as  to  hand-loom  weaving. 
But  what  say  you  to  a  twelve  days'  calm  such  as  we  dozed  through 
in  mid-Atlantic  and  in  mid-August  ?  I  know  nothing  so  tedious  at 
once  and  exasperating  as  that  regular  slap  of  the  wilted  sails  when 
the  ship  rises  and  falls  with  the  slow  breathing  of  the  sleeping  sea, 
one  greasy,  brassy  swell  following  another,  slow,  smooth,  immitigable 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  537 

as  the  series  of  Wordsworth's  "Ecclesiastical  Sonnets."  Even  at 
his  best,  Neptune,  in  a  tete-&-ttte,  has  a  way  of  repeating  himself,  an 
obtuseness  to  the  ne  quid  nimis,  that  is  stupefying.  It  reminds  me 
of  organ-music  and  my  good  friend  Sebastian  Bach.  A  fugue  or  two 
will  do  very  well;  but  a  concert  made  up  of  nothing  else  is  altogether 
too  epic  for  me.  There  is  nothing  so  desperately  monotonous  as  the 
sea,  and  I  no  longer  wonder  at  the  cruelty  of  pirates.  Fancy  an 
existence  in  which  the  coming  up  of  a  clumsy  finback  whale,  who 
says  Pooh!  to  you  solemnly  as  you  lean  over  the  taffrail,  is  an  event 
as  exciting  as  an  election  on  shore!  The  dampness  seems  to  strike 
into  the  wits  as  into  the  lucifer-matches,  so  that  one  may  scratch  a 
thought  half  a  dozen  times  and  get  nothing  at  last  but  a  faint  sputter, 
the  forlorn  hope  of  fire,  which  only  goes  far  enough  to  leave  a  sense  of 
suffocation  behind  it.  Even  smoking  becomes  an  employment  instead 
of  a  solace.  Who  less  likely  to  come  to  their  wit's  end  than  W.M.T. 
and  A.H.C.  ?  Yet  I  have  seen  them  driven  to  five  meals  a  day  for 
mental  occupation.  I  sometimes  sit  and  pity  Noah ;  but  even  he  had 
this  advantage  over  all  succeeding  navigators,  that,  wherever  he 
landed,  he  was  sure  to  get  no  ill  news  from  home.  He  should  be 
canonized  as  the  patron-saint  of  newspaper  correspondents,  being 
the  only  man  who  ever  had  the  very  last  authentic  intelligence  from 
everywhere. 

The  finback  whale  recorded  just  above  has  much  the  look  of  a 
brown-paper  parcel, — the  whitish  stripes  that  run  across  him  answer- 
ing for  the  pack-thread.  He  has  a  kind  of  accidental  hole  in  the  top 
of  his  head,  through  which  he  pooh-poohs  the  rest  of  creation,  and 
which  looks  as  if  it  had  been  made  by  the  chance  thrust  of  a  chestnut 
rail.  He  was  our  first  event.  Our  second  was  harpooning  a  sunfish, 
which  basked  dozing  on  the  lap  of  the  sea,  looking  so  much  like 
the  giant  turtle  of  an  alderman's  dream,  that  I  am  persuaded  he 
would  have  made  mock-turtle  soup  rather  than  acknowledge  his 
imposture.  But  he  broke  away  just  as  they  were  hauling  him  over 
the  side,  and  sank  placidly  through  the  clear  water,  leaving  behind 
him  a  crimson  trail  that  wavered  a  moment  and  was  gone. 

The  sea,  though,  has  better  sights  than  these.  When  we  were 
up  with  the  Azores,  we  began  to  meet  flying-fish  and  Portuguese  men- 
of-war  beautiful  as  the  galley  of  Cleopatra,  tiny  craft  that  dared 
these  seas  before  Columbus.  I  have  seen  one  of  the  former  rise 


538  AMERICAN  PROSE 


from  the  crest  of  a  wave,  and,  glancing  from  another  some  two  hundred 
feet  beyond,  take  a  fresh  flight  of  perhaps  as  long.  How  Calderon 
would  have  similized  this  pretty  creature  had  he  ever  seen  it!  How 
would  he  have  run  him  up  and  down  the  gamut  of  simile!  If  a  fish, 
then  a  fish  with  wings;  if  a  bird,  then  a  bird  with  fins;  and  so  on, 
keeping  up  the  poor  shuttlecock  of  a  conceit  as  is  his  wont.  Indeed, 
the  poor  thing  is  the  most  killing  bait  for  a  comparison,  and  I  assure 
you  I  have  three  or  four  in  my  inkstand; — but  be  calm,  they  shall 
stay  there.  Moore,  who  looked  on  all  nature  as  a  kind  of  Gradus  ad 
Parnassum,  a  thesaurus  of  similitude,  and  spent  his  life  in  a  game  of 
What  is  my  thought  like?  with  himself,  did  the  flying-fish  on  his 
way  to  Bermuda.  So  I  leave  him  in  peace. 

The  most  beautiful  thing  I  have  seen  at  sea,  all  the  more  so  that  I 
had  never  heard  of  it,  is  the  trail  of  a  shoal  of  fish  through  the  phos- 
phorescent water.  It  is  like  a  flight  of  silver  rockets  or  the  streaming 
of  northern  lights  through  that  silent  nether  heaven.  I  thought 
nothing  could  go  beyond  that  rustling  starfoam  which  was  churned 
up  by  our  ship's  bows,  or  those  eddies  and  disks  of  dreamy  flame 
that  rose  and  wandered  out  of  sight  behind  us. 

'Twas  fire  our  ship  was  plunging  through, 

Cold  fire  that  o'er  the  quarter  flew; 

And  wandering  moons  of  idle  flame 

Grew  full  and  waned,  and  went  and  came, 

Dappling  with  light  the  huge  sea-snake 

That  slid  behind  us  in  the  wake. 

But  there  was  something  even  more  delicately  rare  in  the  apparition 
of  the  fish,  as  they  turned  up  in  gleaming  furrows  the  latent  moon- 
shine which  the  ocean  seemed  to  have  hoarded  against  these  vacant 
interlunar  nights.  In  the  Mediterranean  one  day,  as  we  were  lying 
becalmed,  I  observed  the  water  freckled  with  dingy  specks,  which 
at  last  gathered  to  a  pinkish  scum  on  the  surface.  The  sea  had  been 
so  phosphorescent  for  some  nights,  that  when  the  Captain  gave  me 
my  bath,  by  dousing  me  with  buckets  from  the  house  on  deck,  the 
spray  flew  off  my  head  and  shoulders  in  sparks.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  this  dirty-looking  scum  might  be  the  luminous  matter,  and  I  had 
a  pailful  dipped  up  to  keep  till  after  dark.  When  I  went  to  look  at 
it  after  nightfall,  it  seemed  at  first  perfectly  dead;  but  when  I  shook 
it,  the  whole  broke  out  into  what  I  can  only  liken  to  milky  flames, 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  539 

whose  lambent  silence  was  strangely  beautiful,  and  startled  me  almost 
as  actual  projection  might  an  alchemist.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  the 
death  of  so  much  beauty;  so  I  poured  it  all  overboard  again. 

Another  sight  worth  taking  a  voyage  for  is  that  of  the  sails 
by  moonlight.  Our  course  was  "south  and  by  east,  half  south,"  so 
that  we  seemed  bound  for  the  full  moon  as  she  rolled  up  over  our 
wavering  horizon.  Then  I  used  to  go  forward  to  the  bowsprit  and 
look  back.  Our  ship  was  a  clipper,  with  every  rag  set,  stunsails, 
sky-scrapers,  and  all;  nor  was  it  easy  to  believe  that  such  a  wonder 
could  be  built  of  canvas  as  that  white  many-storied  pile  of  cloud 
that  stooped  over  me,  or  drew  back  as  we  rose  and  fell  with  the  waves. 

These  are  all  the  wonders  I  can  recall  of  my  five  weeks  at  sea, 
except  the  sun.  Were  you  ever  alone  with  the  sun  ?  You  think  it  a 
very  simple  question;  but  I  never  was,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word, 
till  I  was  held  up  to  him  one  cloudless  day  on  the  broad  buckler  of  the 
ocean.  I  suppose  one  might  have  the  same  feeling  in  the  desert. 
I  remember  getting  something  like  it  years  ago,  when  I  climbed  alone 
to  the  top  of  a  mountain,  and  lay  face  up  on  the  hot  gray  moss,  striv- 
ing to  get  a  notion  of  how  an  Arab  might  feel.  It  was  my  American 
commentary  of  the  Koran,  and  not  a  bad  one.  In  a  New  England 
winter,  too,  when  everything  is  gagged  with  snow,  as  if  some  gigantic 
physical  geographer  were  taking  a  cast  of  the  earth's  face  in  plaster, 
the  bare  knob  of  a  hill  will  introduce  you  to  the  sun  as  a  comparative 
stranger.  But  at  sea  you  may  be  alone  with  him  day  after  day,  and 
almost  all  day  long.  I  never  understood  before  that  nothing  short  of 
full  daylight  can  give  the  supremest  sense  of  solitude.  Darkness 
will  not  do  so,  for  the  imagination  peoples  it  with  more  shapes  than 
ever  were  poured  from  the  frozen  loins  of  the  populous  North.  The 
sun,  I  sometimes  think,  is  a  little  grouty  at  sea,  especially  at  high  noon, 
feeling  that  he  wastes  his  beams  on  those  fruitless  furrows.  It  is 
otherwise  with  the  moon.  She  "comforts  the  night,"  as  Chapman 
finely  says,  and  I  always  found  her  a  companionable  creature. 

In  the  ocean-horizon  I  took  untiring  delight.  It  is  the  true 
magic-circle  of  expectation  and  conjecture, — almost  as  good  as  a 
wishing-ring.  What  will  rise  over  that  edge  we  sail  toward  daily  and 
never  overtake  ?  A  sail  ?  an  island  ?  the  new  shore  of  the  Old  \Vorld  ? 
Something  rose  every  day,  which  I  need  not  have  gone  so  far  to  see, 
but  at  whose  levee  I  was  a  much  more  faithful  courtier  than  on  shore. 


540  AMERICAN  PROSE 


A  cloudless  sunrise  in  mid-ocean  is  beyond  comparison  for  simple 
grandeur.  It  is  like  Dante's  style,  bare  and  perfect.  Naked  sun 
meets  naked  sea,  the  true  classic  of  nature.  There  may  be  more 
sentiment  in  morning  on  shore, — the  shivering  fairy-jewelry  of  dew, 
the  silver  point-lace  of  sparkling  hoar-frost, — but  there  is  also  more 
complexity,  more  of  the  romantic.  The  one  savors  of  the  elder  Edda, 
the  other  of  the  Minnesingers. 

And  I  thus  floating,  lonely  elf, 

A  kind  of  planet  by  myself, 

The  mists  draw  up  and  furl  .away, 

And  in  the  east  a  wanning  gray, 

Faint  as  the  tint  of  oaken  woods 

When  o'er  their  buds  May  breathes  and  broods, 

Tells  that  the  golden  sunrise-tide 

Is  lapsing  up  earth's  thirsty  side, 

Each  moment  purpling  on  the  crest 

Of  some  stark  billow  farther  west: 

And  as  the  sea-moss  droops  and  hears 

The  gurgling  flood  that  nears  and  nears, 

And  then  with  tremulous  content 

Floats  out  each  thankful  filament, 

So  waited  I  until  it  came, 

God's  daily  miracle, — O  shame 

That  I  had  seen  so  many  days 

Unthankful,  without  wondering  praise, 

Not  recking  more  this  bliss  of  earth 

Than  the  cheap  fire  that  lights  my  hearth ! 

But  now  glad  thoughts  and  holy  pour 

Into  my  heart,  as  once  a  year 

To  San  Miniato's  open  door, 

In  long  procession,  chanting  clear, 

Through  slopes  of  sun,  through  shadows  hoar, 

The  coupled  monks  slow-climbing  sing, 

And  like  a  golden  censer  swing 

From  rear  to  front,  from  front  to  rear 

Their  alternating  bursts  of  praise, 

Till  the  roof's  fading  seraphs  gaze 

Down  through  an  odorous  mist,  that  crawls 

Lingeringly  up  the  darkened  walls, 

And  the  dim  arches,  silent  long, 

Are  startled  with  triumphant  song. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  541 

I  wrote  yesterday  that  the  sea  still  rimmed  our  prosy  lives  with 
mystery  and  conjecture.  But  one  is  shut  up  on  shipboard  like 
Montaigne  in  his  tower,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  review  his  own 
thoughts  and  contradict  himself.  Dire,  redire,  et  me  contredire,  will 
be  the  staple  of  my  journal  till  I  see  land.  I  say  nothing  of  such 
matters  as  the  montagna  bruna  on  which  Ulysses  wrecked;  but  since 
the  sixteenth  century  could  any  man  reasonably  hope  to  stumble  on 
one  of  those  wonders  which  were  cheap  as  dirt  in  the  days  of  St.  Saga  ? 
Faustus,  Don  Juan,  and  Tanhaiiser  are  the  last  ghosts  of  legend,  that 
lingered  almost  till  the  Gallic  cock-crow  of  universal  enlightenment 
and  disillusion.  The  Public  School  has  done  for  Imagination.  What 
shall  I  see  in  Outre-Mer,  or  on  the  way  thither,  but  what  can  be  seen 
with  eyes  ?  To  be  sure,  I  stick  by  the  sea-serpent,  and  would  fain 
believe  that  science  has  scotched,  not  killed  him.  Nor  is  he  to  be 
lightly  given  up,  for,  like  the  old  Scandinavian  snake,  he  binds 
together  for  us  the  two  hemispheres  of  Past  and  Present,  of  Belief 
and  Science.  He  is  the  link  which  knits  us  seaboard  Yankees  with 
our  Norse  progenitors,  interpreting  between  the  age  of  the  dragon  and 
that  of  the  railroad-train.  We  have  made  ducks  and  drakes  of  that 
large  estate  of  wonder  and  delight  bequeathed  to  us  by  ancestral 
vikings,  and  this  alone  remains  to  us  unthrift  heirs  of  Linn. 

I  feel  an  undefined  respect  for  a  man  who  has  seen  the  sea-serpent. 
He  is  to  his  brother-fishers  what  the  poet  is  to  his  fellow-men.  Where 
they  have  seen  nothing  better  than  a  school  of  horse-mackerel,  or  the 
idle  coils  of  ocean  around  Half-way  Rock,  he  has  caught  authentic 
glimpses  of  the  withdrawing  mantel-hem  of  the  Edda  age.  I  care 
not  for  the  monster  himself.  It  is  not  the  thing,  but  the  belief  in 
the  thing,  that  is  dear  to  me.  May  it  be  long  before  Professor  Owen 
is  comforted  with  the  sight  of  his  unfleshed  vertebrae,  long  before  they 
stretch  many  a  rood  behind  Kimball's  or  Barnum's  glass,  reflected 
in  the  shallow  orbs  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Public,  which  stare,  but  see  not! 
When  we  read  that  Captain  Spalding,  of  the  pink-stern  Three  Follies, 
has  beheld  him  rushing  through  the  brine  like  an  infinite  series  of 
bewitched  mackerel-casks,  we  feel  that  the  mystery  of  old  Ocean,  at 
least,  has  not  yet  been  sounded, — that  Faith  and  Awe  survive  there 
unevaporate.  I  once  ventured  the  horse-mackerel  theory  to  an  old 
fisherman,  browner  than  a  tomcod.  "Hos-mackril!"  he  exclaimed 
indignantly,  "hos-mackril  be — "  (here  he  used  a  phrase  commonly 


542  AMERICAN  PROSE 


indicated  in  laical  literature  by  the  same  sign  which  serves  for  Doctor- 
ate in  Divinity,)  "don't  yer  spose  7  know  a  hos-mackril ? "  The 
intonation  of  that  "/"  would  have  silenced  Professor  Monkbarns 
Owen  with  his  provoking  phoca  forever.  What  if  one  should  ask  him 
if  he  knew  a  trilobite? 

The  fault  of  modern  travellers  is,  that  they  see  nothing  out  of 
sight.  They  talk  of  eocene  periods  and  tertiary  formations,  and 
tell  us  how  the  world  looked  to  the  plesiosaur.  They  take  science 
(or  nescience)  with  them,  instead  of  that  soul  of  generous  trust  their 
elders  had.  All  their  senses  are  sceptics  and  doubters,  materialists 
reporting  things  for  other  sceptics  to  doubt  still  further  upon.  Nature 
becomes  a  reluctant  witness  upon  the  stand,  badgered  with  geologist 
hammers  and  phials  of  acid.  There  have  been  no  travellers  since 
those  included  in  Hakluyt  and  Purchas,  except  Martin,  perhaps,  who 
saw  an  inch  or  two  into  the  invisible  at  the  Orkneys.  We  have  peri- 
patetic lecturers,  but  no  more  travellers.  Travellers'  stories  are  no 
longer  proverbial.  We  have  picked  nearly  every  apple  (wormy  or 
otherwise)  from  the  world's  tree  of  knowledge,  and  that  without 
an  Eve  to  tempt  us.  Two  or  three  have  hitherto  hung  luckily  beyond 
reach  on  a  lofty  bough  shadowing  the  interior  of  Africa,  but  there  is  a 
German  Doctor  at  this  very  moment  pelting  at  them  with  sticks 
and  stones.  It  may  be  only  next  week,  and  these  too,  bitten  by 
geographers  and  geologists,  will  be  thrown  away. 

Analysis  is  carried  into  everything.  Even  Deity  is  subjected  to 
chemic  tests.  We  must  have  exact  knowledge,  a  cabinet  stuck  full  of 
facts  pressed,  dried,  or  preserved  in  spirits,  instead  of  the  large,  vague 
world  our  fathers  had.  With  them  science  was  poetry;  with  us, 
poetry  is  science.  Our  modern  Eden  is  a  hortus  siccus.  Tourists 
defraud  rather  than  enrich  us.  They  have  not  that  sense  of  aesthetic 
proportion  which  characterized  the  elder  traveller.  Earth  is  no 
longer  the  fine  work  of  art  it  was,  for  nothing  is  left  to  the  imagination. 
Job  Hortop,  arrived  at  the  height  of  the  Bermudas,  thinks  it  full  time 
to  indulge  us  in  a  merman.  Nay,  there  is  a  story  told  by  Webster,  in 
his  "Witchcraft,"  of  a  merman  with  a  mitre,  who,  on  being  sent  back 
to  his  watery  diocese  of  finland,  made  what  advances  he  could  toward 
an  episcopal  benediction  by  bowing  his  head  thrice.  Doubtless  he 
had  been  consecrated  by  St.  Antony  of  Padua.  A  dumb  bishop 
would  be  sometimes  no  unpleasant  phenomenon,  by  the  way.  Sir 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  543 

John  Hawkins  is  not  satisfied  with  telling  us  about  the  merely 
sensual  Canaries,  but  is  generous  enough  to  throw  us  in  a  handful  of 
"certain  flitting  islands"  to  boot.  Henry  Hawkes  describes  the 
visible  Mexican  cities,  and  then  is  not  so  frugal  but  that  he  can  give 
us  a  few  invisible  ones.  Thus  do  these  generous  ancient  mariners 
make  children  of  us  again.  Their  successors  show  us  an  earth 
effete  and  past  bearing,  tracing  out  with  the  eyes  of  industrious  fleas 
every  wrinkle  and  crowfoot. 

The  journals  of  the  elder  navigators  are  prose  Odysseys.  The 
geographies  of  our  ancestors  were  works  of  fancy  and  imagination. 
They  read  poems  where  we  yawn  over  items.  Their  world  was  a  huge 
wonder-horn,  exhaustless  as  that  which  Thor  strove  to  drain.  Ours 
would  scarce  quench  the  small  thirst  of  a  bee.  No  modern  voyager 
brings  back  the  magical  foundation-stones  of  a  Tempest.  No 
Marco  Polo,  traversing  the  desert  beyond  the  city  of  Lok,  would 
tell  of  things  able  to  inspire  the  mind  of  Milton  with 

"Calling  shapes  and  beckoning  shadows  dire, 
And  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names 
On  sands  and  shores  and  desert  wildernesses." 

It  was  easy  enough  to  believe  the  story  of  Dante,  when  two 
thirds  of  even  the  upper-world  were  yet  untraversed  and  unmapped. 
With  every  step  of  the  recent  traveller  our  inheritance  of  the  wonder- 
ful is  diminished.  Those  beautifully  pictured  notes  of  the  Possible 
are  redeemed  at  a  ruinous  discount  in  the  hard  and  cumbrous  coin 
of  the  Actual.  How  are  we  not  defrauded  and  impoverished  ?  Does 
California  vie  with  El  Dorado?  or  are  Bruce's  Abyssinian  kings  a 
set-off  for  Prester  John  ?  A  bird  in  the  bush  is  worth  two  in  the  hand. 
And  if  the  philosophers  have  not  even  yet  been  able  to  agree  whether 
the  world  has  any  existence  independent  of  ourselves,  how  do  we  not 
gain  a  loss  in  every  addition  to  the  catalogue  of  Vulgar  Errors? 
Where  are  the  fishes  which  nidificated  in  trees?  Where  the  mono- 
podes  sheltering  themselves  from  the  sun  beneath  their  single 
umbrella-like  foot, — umbrella-like  in  everything  but  the  fatal  neces- 
sity of  being  borrowed  ?  Where  the  Acephali,  with  whom  Herodotus, 
in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  wound  up  his  climax  of  men  with  abnormal  top- 
pieces?  Where  the  Roc  whose  eggs  are  possibly  boulders,  needing 
no  far-fetched  theory  of  glacier  or  iceberg  to  account  for  them  ? 


544  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Where  the  tails  of  the  men  of  Kent  ?  Where  the  no  legs  of  the  bird 
of  paradise?  Where  the  Unicorn,  with  that  single  horn  of  his, 
sovereign  against  all  manner  of  poisons?  Where  the  Fountain  of 
Youth  ?  Where  that  Thessalian  spring,  which,  without  cost  to  the 
country,  convicted  and  punished  perjurers  ?  Where  the  Amazons  of 
Orellana  ?  All  these,  and  a  thousand  other  varieties,  we  have  lost, 
and  have  got  nothing  instead  of  them.  And  those  who  have  robbed 
us  of  them  have  stolen  that  which  not  enriches  themselves.  It  is  so 
much  wealth  cast  into  the  sea  beyond  all  approach  of  diving-bells.  We 
owe  no  thanks  to  Mr.  J.  E.  Worcester,  whose  Geography  we  studied 
enforcedly  at  school.  Yet  even  he  had  his  relentings,  and  in  some 
softer  moment  vouchsafed  us  a  fine,  inspiring  print  of  the  Maelstrom, 
answerable  to  the  twenty-four  mile  diameter  of  its  suction.  Year  by 
year,  more  and  more  of  the  world  gets  disenchanted.  Even  the  icy 
privacy  of  the  arctic  and  antarctic  circles  is  invaded.  Our  youth 
are  no  longer  ingenious,  as  indeed  no  ingenuity  is  demanded  of  them. 
Everything  is  accounted  for,  everything  cut  and  dried,  and  the  world 
may  be  put  together  as  easily  as  the  fragments  of  a  dissected  map. 
The  Mysterious  bounds  nothing  now  on  the  North,  South,  East,  or 
West.  We  have  played  Jack  Homer  with  our  earth,  till  there  is  never 
a  plum  left  in  it. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

There  have  been  many  painful  crises  since  the  impatient  vanity 
of  South  Carolina  hurried  ten  prosperous  Commonwealths  into  a 
crime  whose  assured  retribution  was  to  leave  them  either  at  the  mercy 
of  the  nation  they  had  wronged,  or  of  the  anarchy  they  had  sum- 
moned but  could  not  control,  when  no  thoughtful  American  opened 
his  morning  paper  without  dreading  to  find  that  he  had  no  longer  a 
country  to  love  and  honor.  Whatever  the  result  of  the  convulsion 
whose  first  shocks  were  beginning  to  be  felt,  there  would  still  be 
enough  square  miles  of  earth  for  elbow-room;  but  that  ineffable 
sentiment  made  up  of  memory  and  hope,  of  instinct  and  tradition, 
which  swells  every  man's  heart  and  shapes  his  thought,  though 
perhaps  never  present  to  his  consciousness,  would  be  gone  from  it, 
leaving  it  common  earth  and  nothing  more.  Men  might  gather  rich 
crops  from  it,  but  that  ideal  harvest  of  priceless  associations  would  be 
reaped  no  longer;  that  fine  virtue  which  sent  up  messages  of  courage 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  545 

and  security  from  every  sod  of  it  would  have  evaporated  beyond 
recall.  We  should  be  irrevocably  cut  off  from  our  past,  and  be 
forced  to  splice  the  ragged  ends  of  our  lives  upon  whatever  new  con- 
ditions chance  might  twist  for  us. 

We  confess  that  we  had  our  doubts  at  first  whether  the  patriotism 
of  our  people  were  not  too  narrowly  provincial  to  embrace  the  pro- 
portions of  national  peril.  We  had  an  only  too  natural  distrust  of 
immense  public  meetings  and  enthusiastic  cheers,  and  we  knew  that 
the  plotters  of  rebellion  had  roused  a  fanaticism  of  caste  in  the 
Southern  States  sure  to  hold  out  longer  than  that  fanaticism  of  the 
flag  which  was  preached  in  the  North,  for  hatred  has  deeper  roots 
than  sentiment,  though  we  knew  also  that  frenzy  would  pass  through 
its  natural  stages,  to  end  in  dejection,  as  surely  in  Carolina  as  in 
New  York. 

That  a  reaction  should  follow  the  holiday  enthusiasm  with  which 
the  war  was  entered  on,  that  it  should  follow  soon,  and  that  the 
slackening  of  public  spirit  should  be  proportionate  to  the  previous 
over-tension,  might  well  be  foreseen  by  all  who  had  studied  human 
nature  or  history.  Men  acting  gregariously  are  always  in  extremes; 
as  they  are  one  moment  capable  of  higher  courage,  so  they  are  liable, 
the  next,  to  baser  depression,  and  it  is  often  a  matter  of  chance  whether 
numbers  shall  multiply  confidence  or  discouragement.  Nor  does 
deception  lead  more  surely  to  distrust  of  men,  than  self-deception  to 
suspicion  of  principles.  The  only  faith  that  wears  well  and  holds  its 
color  in  all  weathers  is  that  which  is  woven  of  conviction  and  set  with 
the  sharp  mordant  of  experience.  Enthusiasm  is  good  material  for 
the  orator,  but  the  statesman  needs  something  more  durable  to 
work  in, — must  be  able  to  rely  on  the  deliberate  reason  and  consequent 
firmness  of  the  people,  without  which  that  presence  of  mind,  no  less 
essential  in  times  of  moral  than  of  material  peril,  will  be  wanting  at 
the  critical  moment.  Would  this  fervor  of  the  Free  States  hold  out  ? 
Was  it  kindled  by  a  just  feeling  of  the  value  of  constitutional  liberty  ? 
Had  it  body  enough  to  withstand  the  inevitable  dampening  of 
checks,  reverses,  delays  ?  Had  our  population  intelligence  enough  to 
comprehend  that  the  choice  was  between  order  and  anarchy,  between 
the  equilibrium  of  a  government  by  law  and  the  tussle  of  misrule  by 
pronunciamiento  ?  Could  a  war  be  maintained  without  the  ordinary 
stimulus  of  hatred  and  plunder,  and  with  the  impersonal  loyalty  of 


546  AMERICAN  PROSE 


principle  ?  These  were  serious  questions,  and  with  no  precedent  to 
aid  in  answering  them. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  war  there  was,  indeed,  occasion  for  the 
most  anxious  apprehension.  A  President  known  to  be  infected  with 
the  political  heresies,  and  suspected  of  sympathy  with  the  treason,  of 
the  Southern  conspirators,  had  just  surrendered  the  reins,  we  will  not 
say  of  power,  but  of  chaos,  to  a  successor  known  only  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  a  party  whose  leaders,  with  long  training  in  opposition, 
had  none  in  the  conduct  of  affairs;  an  empty  treasury  was  called 
on  to  supply  resources  beyond  precedent  in  the  history  of  finance; 
the  trees  were  yet  growing  and  the  iron  unmined  with  which  a  navy 
was  to  be  built  and  armored ;  officers  without  discipline  were  to  make 
a  mob  into  an  army;  and,  above  all,  the  public  opinion  of  Europe, 
echoed  and  reinforced  with  every  vague  hint  and  every  specious 
argument  of  despondency  by  a  powerful  faction  at  home,  was  either 
contemptuously  sceptical  or  actively  hostile.  It  would  be  hard  to 
over-estimate  the  force  of  this  latter  element  of  disintegration  and 
discouragement  among  a  people  where  every  citizen  at  home,  and 
every  soldier  in  the  field,  is  a  reader  of  newspapers.  The  pedlers  of 
rumor  in  the  North  were  the  most  effective  allies  of  the  rebellion.  A 
nation  can  be  liable  to  no  more  insidious  treachery  than  that  of  the 
telegraph,  sending  hourly  its  electric  thrill  of  panic  along  the  remotest 
nerves  of  the  community,  till  the  excited  imagination  makes  every 
real  danger  loom  heightened  with  its  unreal  double.  The  armies  of 
Jefferson  Davis  have  been  more  effectually  strengthened  by  the 
phantom  regiments  of  Northern  newspapers,  than  by  the  merciless 
dragoonery  of  his  conscription. 

And  even  if  we  look  only  at  more  palpable  difficulties,  the  problem 
to  be  solved  by  our  civil  war  was  so  vast,  both  in  its  immediate  rela- 
tions and  its  future  consequences;  the  conditions  of  its  solution  were 
so  intricate  and  so  greatly  dependent  on  incalculable  and  uncon- 
trollable contingencies;  so  many  of  the  data,  whether  for  hope  or  fear, 
were,  from  their  novelty,  incapable  of  arrangement  under  any, of  the 
categories  of  historical  precedent, — that  there  were  moments  of 
crisis  when  the  firmest  believer  in  the  strength  and  sufficiency  of 
the  democratic  theory  of  government  might  well  hold  his  breath  in 
vague  apprehension  of  disaster.  Our  teachers  of  political  philosophy, 
solemnly  arguing  from  the  precedent  of  some  petty  Grecian,  Italian, 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  547 

or  Flemish  city,  whose  long  periods  of  aristocracy  were  broken  now 
and  then  by  awkward  parentheses  of  mob,  had  always  taught  us  that 
democracies  were  incapable  of  the  sentiment  of  loyalty,  of  con- 
centrated and  prolonged  effort,  of  far-reaching  conceptions;  were 
absorbed  in  material  interests;  impatient  of  regular,  and  much  more 
of  exceptional  restraint;  had  no  natural  nucleus  of  gravitation, 
nor  any  forces  but  centrifugal;  were  always  on  the  verge  of  civil 
war,  and  slunk  at  last  into  the  natural  almshouse  of  bankrupt  popular 
government,  a  military  despotism.  Here  was  indeed  a  dreary  outlook 
for  persons  who  knew  democracy,  not  by  rubbing  shoulders  with  it 
lifelong,  but  merely  from  books,  and  America  only  by  the  report  of 
some  fellow-Briton,  who,  having  eaten  a  bad  dinner  or  lost  a  carpet- 
bag here,  had  written  to  the  Times  demanding  redress,  and  drawing  a 
mournful  inference  of  democratic  instability.  Nor  were  men  wanting 
among  ourselves  who  had  so  steeped  their  brains  in  London  litera- 
ture as  to  mistake  Cockneyism  for  European  culture,  and  contempt 
of  their  country  for  cosmopolitan  breadth  of  view,  and  who,  owing 
all  they  had  and  all  they  were  to  democracy,  thought  it  had  an  air 
of  high-breeding  to  join  in  the  shallow  epicedium  that  our  bubble 
had  burst.  Others  took  up  the  Tory  gabble,  that  all  the  political 
and  military  genius  was  on  the  side  of  the  Rebels,  and  even  yet  are 
not  weary  of  repeating  it,  when  there  is  not  one  of  Jefferson  Davis's 
prophecies  as  to  the  course  of  events,  whether  at  home  or  abroad, 
but  has  been  utterly  falsified  by  the  event,  when  his  finance  has 
literally  gone  to  rags,  and  when  even  the  journals  of  his  own  capital 
are  beginning  to  inquire  how  it  is,  that,  while  then:  armies  are  always 
victorious,  the  territory  of  the  Confederacy  is  steadily  diminishing. 
But  beside  any  disheartening  influences  which  might  affect  the  timid 
or  the  despondent,  there  were  reasons  enough  of  settled  gravity 
against  any  over-confidence  of  hope.  A  war — which,  whether  we 
consider  the  expanse  of  the  territory  at  stake,  the  hosts  brought  into 
the  field,  or  the  reach  of  the  principles  involved,  may  fairly  be  reck- 
oned the  most  momentous  of  modern  times — was  to  be  waged  by  a 
people  divided  at  home,  unnerved  by  fifty  years  of  peace,  under  a  chief 
magistrate  without  experience  and  without  reputation,  whose  every 
measure  was  sure  to  be  cunningly  hampered  by  a  jealous  and  un- 
scrupulous minority,  and  who,  while  dealing  with  unheard-of  compli- 
cations at  home,  must  soothe  a  hostile  neutrality  abroad,  waiting  only 


548  AMERICAN  PROSE 


a  pretext  to  become  war.  All  this  was  to  be  done  without  warning 
and  without  preparation,  while  at  the  same  time  a  social  revolution 
was  to  be  accomplished  in  the  political  condition  of  four  millions  of 
people,  by  softening  the  prejudices,  allaying  the  fears,  and  gradually 
obtaining  the  co-operation,  of  their  unwilling  liberators.  Surely, 
if  ever  there  were  an  occasion  when  the  heightened  imagination  of  the 
historian  might  see  Destiny  visibly  intervening  in  human  affairs,  here 
was  a  knot  worthy  of  her  shears.  Never,  perhaps,  was  any  system 
of  government  tried  by  so  continuous  and  searching  a  strain  as  ours 
during  the  last  three  years;  never  has  any  shown  itself  stronger; 
and  never  could  that  strength  be  so  directly  traced  to  the  virtue 
and  intelligence  of  the  people, — to  that  general  enlightenment  and 
prompt  efficiency  of  public  opinion  possible  only  under  the  influence  of 
a  political  framework  like  our  own.  We  find  it  hard  to  understand 
how  even  a  foreigner  should  be  blind  to  the  grandeur  of  the  combat 
of  ideas  that  has  been  going  on  here, — to  the  heroic  energy,  persist- 
ency, and  self-reliance  of  a  nation  proving  that  it  knows  how  much 
dearer  greatness  is  than  mere  power;  and  we  own  that  it  is  impossible 
for  us  to  conceive  the  mental  and  moral  condition  of  the  American 
who  does  not  feel  his  spirit  braced  and  heightened  by  being  even  a 
spectator  of  such  qualities  and  achievements.  That  a  steady  purpose 
and  a  definite  aim  have  been  given  to  the  jarring  forces  which,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war,  spent  themselves  in  the  discussion  of 
schemes  which  could  only  become  operative,  if  at  all,  after  the  war 
was  over;  that  a  popular  excitement  has  been  slowly  intensified  into 
an  earnest  national  will;  that  a  somewhat  impracticable  moral  senti- 
ment has  been  made  the  unconscious  instrument  of  a  practical  moral 
end;  that  the  treason  of  covert  enemies,  the  jealousy  of  rivals,  the 
unwise  zeal  of  friends,  have  been  made  not  only  useless  for  mischief, 
but  even  useful  for  good;  that  the  conscientious  sensitiveness  of 
England  to  the  horrors  of  civil  conflict  has  been  prevented  from  com- 
plicating a  domestic  with  a  foreign  war; — all  these  results,  any  one 
of  which  might  suffice  to  prove  greatness  in  a  ruler,  have  been  mainly 
due  to  the  good  sense,  the  good  humor,  the  sagacity,  the  large- 
mindedness,  and  the  unselfish  honesty  of  the  unknown  man  whom  a 
blind  fortune,  as  it  seemed,  had  lifted  from  the  crowd  to  the  most 
dangerous  and  difficult  eminence  of  modern  times.  It  is  by  presence 
of  mind  in  untried  emergencies  that  the  native  metal  of  a  man  is 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  549 

tested;  it  is  by  the  sagacity  to  see,  and  the  fearless  honesty  to  admit, 
whatever  of  truth  there  may  be  in  an  adverse  opinion,  in  order  more 
convincingly  to  expose  the  fallacy  that  lurks  behind  it,  that  a  reasoner 
at  length  gains  for  his  mere  statement  of  a  fact  the  force  of  argument; 
it  is  by  a  wise  forecast  which  allows  hostile  combinations  to  go  so  far 
as  by  the  inevitable  reaction  to  become  elements  of  his  own  power, 
that  a  politician  proves  his  genius  for  state-craft;  and  especially 
it  is  by  so  gently  guiding  public  sentiment  that  he  seems  to  follow 
it,  by  so  yielding  doubtful  points  that  he  can  be  firm  without  seeming 
obstinate  in  essential  ones,  and  thus  gain  the  advantages  of  com- 
promise without  the  weakness  of  concession;  by  so  instinctively 
comprehending  the  temper  and  prejudices  of  a  people  as  to  make 
them  gradually  conscious  of  the  superior  wisdom  of  his  freedom 
from  temper  and  prejudice, — it  is  by  qualities  such  as  these  that  a 
magistrate  shows  himself  worthy  to  be  chief  in  a  commonwealth 
of  freemen.  And  it  is  for  qualities  such  as  these  that  we  firmly 
believe  History  will  rank  Mr.  Lincoln  among  the  most  prudent  of 
statesmen  and  the  most  successful  of  rulers.  If  we  wish  to  appreciate 
him,  we  have  only  to  conceive  the  inexitable  chaos  in  which  we  should 
now  be  weltering,  had  a  weak  man  or  an  unwise  one  been  chosen  in 
his  stead. 

"Bare  is  back,"  says  the  Norse  proverb,  "without  brother 
behind  it";  and  this  is,  by  analogy,  true  of  an  elective  magistracy. 
The  hereditary  ruler  in  any  critical  emergency  may  reckon  on  the 
inexhaustible  resources  of  prestige,  of  sentiment,  of  superstition,  of 
dependent  interest,  while  the  new  man  must  slowly  and  painfully 
create  all  these  out  of  the  unwilling  material  around  him,  by  superi- 
ority of  character,  by  patient  singleness  of  purpose,  by  sagacious 
presentiment  of  popular  tendencies  and  instinctive  sympathy  with 
the  national  character.  Mr.  Lincoln's  task  was  one  of  peculiar  and 
exceptional  difficulty.  Long  habit  had  accustomed  the  American 
people  to  the  notion  of  a  party  in  power,  and  of  a  President  as  its 
creature  and  organ,  while  the  more  vital  fact,  that  the  executive 
for  the  time  being  represents  the  abstract  idea  of  government  as  a 
permanent  principle  superior  to  all  party  and  all  private  interest, 
had  gradually  become  unfamiliar.  They  had  so  long  seen  the  public 
policy  more  or  less  directed  by  views  of  party,  and  often  even  of 
personal  advantage.,  as  to  be  ready  to  suspect  the  motives  of  a  chief 


550  AMERICAN  PROSE 


magistrate  compelled,  for  the  first  time  in  our  history,  to  feel  himself 
the  head  and  hand  of  a  great  nation,  and  to  act  upon  the  fundamental 
maxim,  laid  down  by  all  publicists,  that  the  first  duty  of  a  govern- 
ment is  to  defend  and  maintain  its  own  existence.  Accordingly,  a 
powerful  weapon  seemed  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  the  opposition  by 
the  necessity  under  which  the  administration  found  itself  of  applying 

this  old  truth  to  new  relations 

The  change  which  three  years  have  brought  about  is  too  remark- 
able to  be  passed  over  without  comment,  too  weighty  in  its  lesson 
not  to  be  laid  to  heart.  Never  did  a  President  enter  upon  Office 
with  less  means  at  his  command,  outside  his  own  strength  of  heart 
and  steadiness  of  understanding,  for  inspiring  confidence  in  the 
people,  and  so  winning  it  for  himself,  than  Mr.  Lincoln.  All  that 
was  known  of  him  was  that  he  was  a  good  stump-speaker,  nominated 
for  his  availability, — that  is,  because  he  had  no  history, —  and  chosen 
by  a  party  with  whose  more  extreme  opinions  he  was  not  in  sympathy. 
It  might  well  be  feared  that  a  man  past  fifty,  against  whom  the 
ingenuity  of  hostile  partisans  could  rake  up  no  accusation,  must  be 
lacking  in  manliness  of  character,  in  decision  of  principle,  in  strength 
of  will, — that  a  man  who  was  at  best  only  the  representative  of  a 
party,  and  who  yet  did  not  fairly  represent  even  that, — would  fail 
of  political,  much  more  of  popular,  support.  And  certainly  no  one 
ever  entered  upon  office  with  so  few  resources  of  power  in  the  past, 
and  so  many  materials  of  weakness  in  the  present,  as  Mr.  Lincoln. 
Even  in  that  half  of  the  Union  which  acknowledged  him  as  President, 
there  was  a  large,  and  at  that  time  dangerous  minority,  that  hardly 
admitted  his  claim  to  the  office,  and  even  in  the  party  that  elected 
him  there  was  also  a  large  minority  that  suspected  him  of  being 
secretly  a  communicant  with  the  church  of  Laodicea.  All  that  he 
did  was  sure  to  be  virulently  attacked  as  ultra  by  one  side;  all  that  he 
left  undone,  to  be  stigmatized  as  proof  of  lukewarmness  and  back- 
sliding by  the  other.  Meanwhile  he  was  to  carry  on  a  truly  colossal 
war  by  means  of  both;  he  was  to  disengage  the  country  from  diplo- 
matic entanglements  of  unprecedented  peril  undisturbed  by  the 
help  or  the  hinderance  of  either,  and  to  win  from  the  crowning  dangers 
of  his  administration,  in  the  confidence  of  the  people,  the  means 
of  his  safety  and  their  own.  He  has  contrived  to  do  it,  and  perhaps 
none  of  our  Presidents  since  Washington  has  stood  so  firm  in  the 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  551 

confidence  of  the  people  as  he  does  after  three  years  of  stormy 
administration. 

Mr.  Lincoln's  policy  was  a  tentative  one,  and  rightly  so.  He 
laid  down  no  programme  which  must  compel  him  to  be  either  in- 
consistent or  unwise,  no  cast-iron  theorem  to  which  circumstances 
must  be  fitted  as  they  rose,  or  else  be  useless  to  his  ends.  He  seemed 
to  have  chosen  Mazarin's  motto,  Le  temps  et  moi.  The  moi,  to  be  sure, 
was  not  very  prominent  at  first;  but  it  has  grown  more  and  more  so, 
till  the  world  is  beginning  to  be  persuaded  that  it  stands  for  a  char- 
acter of  marked  individuality  and  capacity  for  affairs.  Time  was  his 
prime-minister,  and,  we  began  to  think,  at  one  period,  his  general-in- 
chief  also.  At  first  he  was  so  slow  that  he  tired  out  all  those  who  see 
no  evidence  of  progress  but  in  blowing  up  the  engine;  then  he  was  so 
fast,  that  he  took  the  breath  away  from  those  who  think  there  is  no 
getting  on  safely  while  there  is  a  spark  of  fire  under  the  boilers.  God 
is  the  only  being  who  has  time  enough ;  but  a  prudent  man,  who  knows 
how  to  seize  occasion,  can  commonly  make  a  shift  to  find  as  much  as 
he  needs.  Mr.  Lincoln,  as  it  seems  to  us  in  reviewing  his  career, 
though  we  have  sometimes  in  our  impatience  thought  otherwise, 
has  always  waited,  as  a  wise  man  should,  till  the  right  moment 
brought  up  all  his  reserves.  Semper  nocuit  differre  paratis,  is  a  sound 
axiom,  but  the  really  efficacious  man  will  also  be  sure  to  know  when 
he  is  not  ready,  and  be  firm  against  all  persuasion  and  reproach  till 
he  is. 

One  would  be  apt  to  think,  from  some  of  the  criticisms  made  on 
Mr.  Lincoln's  course  by  those  who  mainly  agree  with  him  in  prin- 
ciple, that  the  chief  object  of  a  statesman  should  be  rather  to  proclaim 
his  adhesion  to  certain  doctrines,  than  to  achieve  their  triumph 
by  quietly  accomplishing  his  ends.  In  our  opinion,  there  is  no  more 
unsafe  politician  than  a  conscientiously  rigid  doctrinaire,  nothing 
more  sure  to  end  in  disaster  than  a  theoretic  scheme  of  policy  that 
admits  of  no  pliability  for  contingencies.  True,  there  is  a  popular 
image  of  an  impossible  He,  in  whose  plastic  hands  the  submissive 
destinies  of  mankind  become  as  wax,  and  to  whose  commanding 
necessity  the  toughest  facts  yield  with  the  graceful  pliancy  of  fiction ; 
but  in  real  life  we  commonly  find  that  the  men  who  control  cir- 
cumstances, as  it  is  called,  are  those  who  have  learned  to  allow  for  the 
influence  of  their  eddies,  and  have  the  nerve  to  turn  them  to  account 


552  AMERICAN  PROSE 


at  the  happy  instant.  Mr.  Lincoln's  perilous  task  has  been  to  carry 
a  rather  shackly  raft  through  the  rapids,  making  fast  the  unrulier 
logs  as  he  could  snatch  opportunity,  and  the  country  is  to  be  con- 
gratulated that  he  did  not  think  it  his  duty  to  run  straight  at  all 
hazards,  but  cautiously  to  assure  himself  with  his  setting-pole  where 
the  main  current  was,  and  keep  steadily  to  that.  He  is  still  in  wild 
water,  but  we  have  faith  that  his  skill  and  sureness  of  eye  will  bring 
him  out  right  at  last. 

A  curious,  and,  as  we  think,  not  inapt  parallel,  might  be  drawn 
between  Mr.  Lincoln  and  one  of  the  most  striking  figures  in  modern 
history, — Henry  IV.  of  France.  The  career  of  the  latter  may  be 
more  picturesque,  as  that  of  a  daring  captain  always  is;  but  in  all 
its  vicissitudes  there  is  nothing  more  romantic  than  that  sudden 
change,  as  by  a  rub  of  Aladdin's  lamp,  from  the  attorney's  office 
in  a  country  town  of  Illinois  to  the  helm  of  a  great  nation  in  times 
like  these.  The  analogy  between  the  characters  and  circumstances 
of  the  two  men  is  in  many  respects  singularly  close.  Succeeding 
to  a  rebellion  rather  than  a  crown,  Henry's  chief  material  dependence 
was  the  Huguenot  party,  whose  doctrines  sat  upon  him  with  a  loose- 
ness distasteful  certainly,  if  not  suspicious,  to  the  more  fanatical 
among  them.  King  only  in  name  over  the  greater  part  of  France,  and 
with  his  capital  barred  against  him,  it  yet  gradually  became  clear 
to  the  more  far-seeing  even  of  the  Catholic  party,  that  he  was  the 
only  centre  of  order  and  legitimate  authority  round  which  France 
could  reorganize  itself.  While  preachers  who  held  the  divine  right 
of  kings  made  the  churches  of  Paris  ring  with  declamations  in  favor  of 
democracy  rather  than  submit  to  the  heretic  dog  of  a  Bearnois, — 
much  as  our  soi-disant  Democrats  have  lately  been  preaching  the 
divine  right  of  slavery,  and  denouncing  the  heresies  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence, — Henry  bore  both  parties  in  hand  till  he  was 
convinced  that  only  one  course  of  action  could  possibly  combine  his 
own  interests  and  those  of  France.  Meanwhile  the  Protestants 
believed  somewhat  doubtfully  that  he  was  theirs,  the  Catholics 
hoped  somewhat  doubtfully  that  he  would  be  theirs,  and  Henry 
himself  turned  aside  remonstrance,  advice,  and  curiosity  alike  with  a 
jest  or  a  proverb  (if  a  little  high,  he  liked  them  none  the  worse), 
joking  continually  as  his  manner  was.  We  have  seen  Mr.  Lincoln 
contemptuously  compared  to  Sancho  Panza  by  persons  incapable 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  553 

of  appreciating  one  of  the  deepest  pieces  of  wisdom  in  the  profoundest 
romance  ever  written;  namely,  that,  while  Don  Quixote  was  incom- 
parable in  theoretic  and  ideal  statesmanship,  Sancho,  with  his  stock 
of  proverbs,  the  ready  money  of  human  experience,  made  the  best 
possible  practical  governor.  Henry  IV.  was  as  full  of  wise  saws  and 
modern  instances  as  Mr.  Lincoln,  but  beneath  all  this  was  the  thought- 
ful, practical,  humane,  and  thoroughly  earnest  man,  around  whom 
the  fragments  of  France  were  to  gather  themselves  till  she  took  her 
place  again  as  a  planet  of  the  first  magnitude  in  the  European  sys- 
tem. In  one  respect  Mr.  Lincoln  was  more  fortunate  than  Henry. 
However  some  may  think  him  wanting  in  zeal,  the  most  fanatical 
can  find  no  taint  of  apostasy  in  any  measure  of  his,  nor  can  the  most 
bitter  charge  him  with  being  influenced  by  motives  of  personal 
interest.  The  leading  distinction  between  the  policies  of  the  two 
is  one  of  circumstances.  Henry  went  over  to  the  nation;  Mr. 
Lincoln  has  steadily  drawn  the  nation  over  to  him.  One  left  a 
united  France;  the  other,  we  hope  and  believe,  will  leave  a  reunited 
America.  We  leave  our  readers  to  trace  the  further  points  of  differ- 
ence and  resemblance  for  themselves,  merely  suggesting  a  general 
similarity  which  has  often  occurred  to  us.  One  only  point  of  melan- 
choly interest  we  will  allow  ourselves  to  touch  upon.  That  Mr. 
Lincoln  is  not  handsome  nor  elegant  we  learn  from  certain  English 
tourists,  who  would  consider  similar  revelations  in  regard  to  Queen 
Victoria  as  thoroughly  American  in  their  want  of  bienseance.  It  is 
no  concern  of  ours,  nor  does  it  affect  his  fitness  for  the  high  place 
he  so  worthily  occupies;  but  he  is  certainly  as  fortunate  as  Henry 
in  the  matter  of  good  looks,  if  we  may  trust  contemporary  evidence. 
Mr.  Lincoln  has  also  been  reproached  with  Americanism  by  some  not 
unfriendly  British  critics;  but,  with  all  deference,  we  cannot  say  that 
we  like  him  any  the  worse  for  it,  or  see  in  it  any  reason  why  he  should 

govern  Americans  the  less  wisely 

Undoubtedly  slavery  was  the  most  delicate  and  embarrassing 
question  with  which  Mr.  Lincoln  was  called  on  to  deal,  and  it  was  one 
which  no  man  in  his  position,  whatever  his  opinions,  could  evade;  for, 
though  he  might  withstand  the  clamor  of  partisans,  he  must  sooner 
or  later  yield  to  the  persistent  importunacy  of  circumstances,  which 
thrust  the  problem  upon  him  at  every  turn  and  in  every  shape.  He 
must  solve  the  riddle  of  this  new  Sphinx,  or  be  devoured.  Though 


554  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Mr.  Lincoln's  policy  in  this  critical  affair  has  not  been  such  as  to 
satisfy  those  who  demand  an  heroic  treatment  for  even  the  most 
trifling  occasion,  and  who  will  not  cut  their  coat  according  to  their 
cloth,  unless  they  can  borrow  the  scissors  of  Atropos,  it  has  been  at 
least  not  unworthy  of  the  long-headed  king  of  Ithaca.  Mr.  Lincoln 
had  the  choice  of  Antonio  offered  him.  Which  of  the  three  caskets 
held  the  prize  which  was  to  redeem  the  fortunes  of  the  country? 
There  was  the  golden  one  whose  showy  speciousness  might  have 
tempted  a  vain  man;  the  silver  of  compromise,  which  might  have 
decided  the  choice  of  a  merely  acute  one;  and  the  leaden, — dull  and 
homely-looking,  as  prudence  always  is, — yet  with  something  about 
it  sure  to  attract  the  eye  of  practical  wisdom.  Mr.  Lincoln  dallied 
with  his  decision  perhaps  longer  than  seemed  needful  to  those  on 
whom  its  awful  responsibility  was  not  to  rest,  but  when  he  made  it, 
it  was  worthy  of  his  cautious  but  sure-footed  understanding.  The 
moral  of  the  Sphinx-riddle,  and  it  is  a  deep  one,  lies  in  the  childish 
simplicity  of  the  solution.  Those  who  fail  in  guessing  it,  fail  because 
they  are  over-ingenious,  and  cast  about  for  an  answer  that  shall 
suit  their  own  notion  of  the  gravity  of  the  occasion  and  of  their  own 
dignity,  rather  than  the  occasion  itself. 

In  a  matter  which  must  be  finally  settled  by  public  opinion,  and 
in  regard  to  which  the  ferment  of  prejudice  and  passion  on  both 
sides  has  not  yet  subsided  to  that  equilibrium  of  compromise  from 
which  alone  a  sound  public  opinion  can  result,  it  is  proper  enoiigh  for 
the  private  citizen  to  press  his  own  convictions  with  all  possible  force 
of  argument  and  persuasion;  but  the  popular  magistrate,  whose 
judgment  must  become  action,  and  whose  action  involves  the  whole 
country,  is  bound  to  wait  till  the  sentiment  of  the  people  is  so  far 
advanced  toward  his  own  point  of  view,  that  what  he  does  shall  find 
support  in  it,  instead  of  merely  confusing  it  with  new  elements  of 
division.  It  was  not  unnatural  that  men  earnestly  devoted  to  the 
saving  of  their  country,  and  profoundly  convinced  that  slavery  was  its 
only  real  enemy,  should  demand  a  decided  policy  round  which  all 
patriots  might  rally, — and  this  might  have  been  the  wisest  course  for 
an  absolute  ruler.  But  in  the  then  unsettled  state  of  the  public 
mind,  with  a  large  party  decrying  even  resistance  to  the  slaveholders' 
rebellion  as  not  only  unwise,  but  even  unlawful;  with  a  majority, 
perhaps,  even  of  the  would-be  loyal  so  long  accustomed  to  regard 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  555 

the  Constitution  as  a  deed  of  gift  conveying  to  the  South  their  own 
judgment  as  to  policy  and  instinct  as  to  right,  that  they  were  in  doubt 
at  first  whether  their  loyalty  were  due  to  the  country  or  to  slavery; 
and  with  a  respectable  body  of  honest  and  influential  men  who  still 
believed  in  the  possibility  of  conciliation, — Mr.  Lincoln  judged 
wisely,  that,  in  laying  down  a  policy  in  deference  to  one  party,  he 
should  be  giving  to  the  other  the  very  fulcrum  for  which  their  dis- 
loyalty had  been  waiting. 

It  behooved  a  clear-headed  man  in  his  position  not  to  yield  so 
far  to  an  honest  indignation  against  the  brokers  of  treason  in  the 
North,  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  materials  for  misleading  which  were 
their  stock  in  trade,  and  to  forget  that  it  is  not  the  falsehood  of 
sophistry  which  is  to  be  feared,  but  the  grain  of  truth  mingled  with 
it  to  make  it  specious, — that  it  is  not  the  knavery  of  the  leaders  so 
much  as  the  honesty  of  the  followers  they  may  seduce,  that  gives 
them  power  for  evil.  It  was  especially  his  duty  to  do  nothing  which 
might  help  the  people  to  forget  the  true  cause  of  the  war  in  fruitless 
disputes  about  its  inevitable  consequences. 

The  doctrine  of  State  rights  can  be  so  handled  by  an  adroit 
demagogue  as  easily  to  confound  the  distinction  between  liberty  and 
lawlessness  in  the  minds  of  ignorant  persons,  accustomed  always  to 
be  influenced  by  the  sound  of  certain  words,  rather  than  to  reflect 
upon  the  principles  which  give  them  meaning.  For,  though  Secession 
involves  the  manifest  absurdity  of  denying  to  a  State  the  right  of 
making  war  against  any  foreign  power  while  permitting  it  against 
the  United  States;  though  it  supposes  a  compact  of  mutual  con- 
cessions and  guaranties  among  States  without  any  arbiter  in  case 
of  dissension;  though  it  contradicts  common  sense  in  assuming 
that  the  men  who  framed  our  government  did  not  know  what  they 
meant  when  they  substituted  Union  for  Confederation;  though  it 
falsifies  history,  which  shows  that  the  main  opposition  to  the  adoption 
of  the  Constitution  was  based  on  the  argument  that  it  did  not  allow 
that  independence  in  the  several  States  which  alone  would  justify 
them  in  seceding; — yet,  as  slavery  was  universally  admitted  to  be  a 
reserved  right,  an  inference  could  be  drawn  from  any  direct  attack 
upon  it  (though  only  in  self-defence)  to  a  natural  right  of  resistance, 
logical  enough  to  satisfy  minds  untrained  to  detect  fallacy,  as  the 
majority  of  men  always  are,  and  now  too  much  disturbed  by  the 


556  AMERICAN  PROSE 


disorder  of  the  times,  to  consider  that  the  order  of  events  had  any 
legitimate  bearing  on  the  argument.  Though  Mr.  Lincoln  was  too 
sagacious  to  give  the  Northern  allies  of  the  Rebels  the  occasion  they 
desired  and  even  strove  to  provoke,  yet  from  the  beginning  of  the  war 
the  most  persistent  efforts  have  been  made  to  confuse  the  public  mind 
as  to  its  origin  and  motives,  and  to  drag  the  people  of  the  loyal  States 
down  from  the  national  position  they  had  instinctively  taken  to  the 
old  level  of  party  squabbles  and  antipathies.  The  wholly  unpro- 
voked rebellion  of  an  oligarchy  proclaiming  negro  slavery  the  corner- 
stone of  free  institutions,  and  in  the  first  flush  of  over-hasty  confi- 
dence venturing  to  parade  the  logical  sequence  of  their  leading  dogma, 
"that  slavery  is  right  in  principle,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  differ- 
ence of  complexion,"  has  been  represented  as  a  legitimate  and  gallant 
attempt  to  maintain  the  true  principles  of  democracy.  The  rightful 
endeavor  of  an  established  government,  the  least  onerous  that  ever 
existed,  to  defend  itself  against  a  treacherous  attack  on  its  very 
existence,  has  been  cunningly  made  to  seem  the  wicked  effort  of  a 
fanatical  clique  to  force  its  doctrines  on  an  oppressed  population. 

Even  so  long  ago  as  when  Mr.  Lincoln,  not  yet  convinced  of  the 
danger  and  magnitude  of  the  crisis,  was  endeavoring  to  persuade 
himself  of  Union  majorities  at  the  South,  and  to  carry  on  a  war  that 
was  half  peace  in  the  hope  of  a  peace  that  would  have  been  all  war, — 
while  he  was  still  enforcing  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  under  some  theory 
that  Secession,  however  it  might  absolve  States  from  their  obligations, 
could  not  escheat  them  of  their  claims  under  the  Constitution,  and 
that  slaveholders  in  rebellion  had  alone  among  mortals  the  privilege 
of  having  their  cake  and  eating  it  at  the  same  time, — the  enemies  of 
free  government  were  striving  to  persuade  the  people  that  the  war 
was  an  Abolition  crusade.  To  rebel  without  reason  was  proclaimed 
as  one  of  the  rights  of  man,  while  it  was  carefully  kept  out  of  sight 
that  to  suppress  rebellion  is  the  first  duty  of  government.  All  the 
evils  that  have  come  upon  the  country  have  been  attributed  to  the 
Abolitionists,  though  it  is  hard  to  see  how  any  party  can  become 
permanently  powerful  except  in  one  of  two  ways, — either  by  the 
greater  truth  of  its  principles,  or  the  extravagance  of  the  party  opposed 
to  it.  To  fancy  the  ship  of  state,  riding  safe  at  her  constitutional 
moorings,  suddenly  engulfed  by  a  huge  kraken  of  Abolitionism, 
rising  from  unknown  depths  and  grasping  it  with  slimy  tentacles,  is 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  557 

to  look  at  the  natural  history  of  the  matter  with  the  eyes  of  Pontop- 
pidan.  To  believe  that  the  leaders  in  the  Southern  treason  feared 
any  danger  from  Abolitionism,  would  be  to  deny  them  ordinary 
intelligence,  though  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  they  made  use 
of  it  to  stir  the  passions  and  excite  the  fears  of  their  deluded  accom- 
plices. They  rebelled,  not  because  they  thought  slavery  weak,  but 
because  they  believed  it  strong  enough,  not  to  overthrow  the  govern- 
ment, but  to  get  possession  of  it;  for  it  becomes  daily  clearer  that 
they  used  rebellion  only  as  a  means  of  revolution,  and  if  they  got 
revolution,  though  not  in  the  shape  they  looked  for,  is  the  American 
people  to  save  them  from  its  consequences  at  the  cost  of  its  own 
existence  ?  The  election  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  which  it  was  clearly  in  their 
power  to  prevent  had  they  wished,  was  the  occasion  merely,  and  not 
the  cause,  of  their  revolt.  Abolitionism,  till  within  a  year  or  two,  was 
the  despised  heresy  of  a  few  earnest  persons,  without  political  weight 
enough  to  carry  the  election  of  a  parish  constable;  and  their  cardinal 
principle  was  disunion,  because  they  were  convinced  that  within 
the  Union  the  position  of  slavery  was  impregnable.  In  spite  of  the 
proverb,  great  effects  do  not  follow  from  small  causes, — that  is, 
disproportionately  small, — but  from  adequate  causes  acting  under 
certain  required  conditions.  To  contrast  the  size  of  the  oak  with  that 
of  the  parent  acorn,  as  if  the  poor  seed  had  paid  all  costs  from  its 
slender  strong-box,  may  serve  for  a  child's  wonder;  but  the  real 
miracle  lies  in  that  divine  league  which  bound  all  the  forces  of  nature 
to  the  service  of  the  tiny  germ  in  fulfilling  its  destiny.  Everything 
has  been  at  work  for  the  past  ten  years  in  the  cause  of  antislavery,  but 
Garrison  and  Phillips  have  been  far  less  successful  propagandists  than 
the  slaveholders  themselves,  with  the  constantly-growing  arrogance 
of  their  pretensions  and  encroachments.  They  have  forced  the 
question  upon  the  attention  of  every  voter  in  the  Free  States,  by 
defiantly  putting  freedom  and  democracy  on  the  defensive.  But, 
even  after  the  Kansas  outrages,  there  was  no  wide-spread  desire  on  the 
part  of  the  North  to  commit  aggressions,  though  there  was  a  growing 
determination  to  resist  them.  The  popular  unanimity  in  favor  of 
the  war  three  years  ago  was  but  in  small  measure  the  result  of  anti- 
slavery  sentiment,  far  less  of  any  zeal  for  abolition.  But  every 
month  of  the  war,  every  movement  of  the  allies  of  slavery  in  the 
Free  States,  has  been  making  Abolitionists  by  the  thousand.  The 


558  AMERICAN  PROSE 


masses  of  any  people,  however  intelligent,  are  very  little  moved  by 
abstract  principles  of  humanity  and  justice,  until  those  principles 
are  interpreted  for  them  by  the  stinging  commentary  of  some  infringe- 
ment upon  their  own  rights,  and  then  their  instincts  and  passions, 
once  aroused,  do  indeed  derive  an  incalculable  reinforcement  of 
impulse  and  intensity  from  those  higher  ideas,  those  sublime  tra- 
ditions, which  have  no  motive  political  force  till  they  are  allied  with 
a  sense  of  immediate  personal  wrong  or  imminent  peril.  Then  at 
last  the  stars  in  their  courses  begin  to  fight  against  Sisera.  Had 
any  one  doubted  before  that  the  rights  of  human  nature  are  unitary, 
that  oppression  is  of  one  hue  the  world  over,  no  matter  what  the  color 
of  the  oppressed, — had  any  one  failed  to  see  what  the  real  essence 
of  the  contest  was, — the  efforts  of  the  advocates  of  slavery  among 
ourselves  to  throw  discredit  upon  the  fundamental  axioms  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  and  the  radical  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
could  not  fail  to  sharpen  his  eyes.  This  quarrel,  it  is  plain,  is  not 
between  Northern  fanaticism  and  Southern  institutions,  but  between 
downright  slavery  and  upright  freedom,  between  despotism  and 
democracy,  between  the  Old  World  and  the  New. 

The  progress  of  three  years  has  outstripped  the  expectation  of  the 
most  sanguine,  and  that  of  our  arms,  great  as  it  undoubtedly  is,  is 
trifling  in  comparison  with  the  advance  of  opinion.  The  great 
strength  of  slavery  was  a  superstition,  which  is  fast  losing  its  hold  on 
the  public  mind.  When  it  was  first  proposed  to  raise  negro  regiments, 
there  were  many  even  patriotic  men  who  felt  as  the  West  Saxons  did 
at  seeing  their  high-priest  hurl  his  lance  against  the  temple  of  their 
idol.  They  were  sure  something  terrible,  they  knew  not  what, 
would  follow.  But  the  earth  stood  firm,  the  heavens  gave  no  sign, 
and  presently  they  joined  in  making  a  bonfire  of  their  bugbear. 
That  we  should  employ  the  material  of  the  rebellion  for  its  own  de- 
struction, seems  now  the  merest  truism.  In  the  same  way  men's 
minds  are  growing  wonted  to  the  thought  of  emancipation ;  and  great 
as  are  the  difficulties  which  must  necessarily  accompany  and  follow 
so  vast  a  measure,  we  have  no  doubt  that  they  will  be  successfully 
overcome.  The  point  of  interest  and  importance  is,  that  the  feeling 
of  the  country  in  regard  to  slavery  is  no  whim  of  sentiment,  but  a 
settled  conviction,  and  that  the  tendency  of  opinion  is  unmistakably 
and  irrevocably  in  one  direction,  no  less  in  the  Border  Slave  States 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  559 

than  in  the  Free.  The  chances  of  the  war,  which  at  one  time  seemed 
against  us,  are  now  greatly  in  our  favor.  The  nation  is  more  thor- 
oughly united  against  any  shameful  or  illusory  peace  than  it  ever  was 
on  any  other  question,  and  the  very  extent  of  the  territory  to  be  sub- 
dued, which  was  the  most  serious  cause  of  misgiving,  is  no  longer 
an  element  of  strength,  but  of  disintegration,  to  the  conspiracy. 
The  Rebel  leaders  can  make  no  concessions;  the  country  is  unani- 
mously resolved  that  the  war  shall  be  prosecuted,  at  whatever  cost; 
and  if  the  war  go  on,  will  it  leave  slavery  with  any  formidable  strength 
in  the  South  ?  and  without  that,  need  there  be  any  fear  of  effective 
opposition  in  the  North? 

While  every  day  was  bringing  the  people  nearer  to  the  conclusion 
which  all  thinking  men  saw  to  be  inevitable  from  the  beginning,  it  was 
wise  in  Mr.  Lincoln  to  leave  the  shaping  of  his  policy  to  events.  In 
this  country,  where  the  rough  and  ready  understanding  of  the  people 
is  sure  at  last  to  be  the  controlling  power,  a  profound  common-sense  is 
the  best  genius  for  statesmanship.  Hitherto  the  wisdom  of  the 
President's  measures  has  been  justified  by  the  fact  that  they  have 
always  resulted  in  more  firmly  uniting  public  opinion 

If  Mr.  Lincoln  continue  to  act  with  the  firmness  and  prudence 
which  have  hitherto  distinguished  him,  we  think  he  has  little  to  fear 
from  the  efforts  of  the  opposition.  Men  without  sincere  convictions 
are  hardly  likely  to  have  a  well-defined  and  settled  policy,  and  the 
blunders  they  have  hitherto  committed  must  make  them  cautious. 
If  their  personal  hostility  to  the  President  be  unabated,  we  may 
safely  count  on  their  leniency  to  the  opinion  of  majorities,  and  the 
drift  of  public  sentiment  is  too  strong  to  be  mistaken.  They  have 
at  last  discovered  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Country,  which  has  a 
meaning  for  men's  minds  and  a  hold  upon  their  hearts;  they  may 
make  the  further  discovery,  that  this  is  a  revolution  that  has  been 
forced  on  us,  and  not  merely  a  civil  war.  In  any  event,  an  opposition 
is  a  wholesome  thing;  and  we  are  only  sorry  that  this  is  not  a  more 
wholesome  opposition. 

We  believe  it  is  the  general  judgment  of  the  country  on  the  acts 
of  the  present  administration,  that  they  have  been,  in  the  main, 
judicious  and  well-timed.  The  only  doubt  about  some  of  them  seems 
to  be  as  to  their  constitutionality.  It  has  been  sometimes  objected 
to  our  form  of  government,  that  it  was  faulty  in  having  a  written 


560  AMERICAN  PROSE 


constitution  which  could  not  adapt  itself  to  the  needs  of  the  time  as 
they  arose.  But  we  think  it  rather  a  theoretic  than  a  practical 
objection ;  for  in  point  of  fact  there  has  been  hardly  a  leading  measure 
of  any  administration  that  has  not  been  attacked  as  unconstitutional, 
and  which  was  not  carried  nevertheless.  Purchase  of  Louisiana, 
Embargo,  Removal  of  the  Deposits,  Annexation  of  Texas,  not  to 
speak  of  others  less  important, — on  the  unconstitutionality  of  all 
these,  powerful  parties  have  appealed  to  the  country,  and  invariably 
the  decision  has  been  against  them.  The  will  of  the  people  for  the 
time  being  has  always  carried  it.  In  the  present  instance,  we  pur- 
posely refrain  from  any  allusion  to  the  moral  aspects  of  the  question. 
We  prefer  to  leave  the  issue  to  experience  and  common  sense.  Has 
any  sane  man  ever  doubted  on  which  side  the  chances  were  in  this 
contest  ?  Can  any  sane  man  who  has  watched  the  steady  advances 
of  opinion,  forced  onward  slowly  by  the  immitigable  logic  of  facts, 
doubt  what  the  decision  of  the  people  will  be  in  this  matter?  The 
Southern  conspirators  have  played  a  desperate  stake,  and,  if  they 
had  won,  would  have  bent  the  whole  policy  of  the  country  to  the 
interests  of  slavery.  Filibustering  would  have  been  nationalized, 
and  the  slave-trade  re-established  as  the  most  beneficent  form  of 
missionary  enterprise.  But  if  they  lose?  They  have,  of  their 
own  choice,  put  the  chance  into  our  hands  of  making  this  conti- 
nent the  empire  of  a  great  homogeneous  population,  substantially  one 
in  race,  language,  and  religion, — the  most  prosperous  and  powerful 
of  nations.  Is  there  a  doubt  what  the  decision  of  a  victorious  people 
will  be?  If  we  were  base  enough  to  decline  the  great  commission 
which  Destiny  lays  on  us,  should  we  not  deserve  to  be  ranked  with 
those  dastards  whom  the  stern  Florentine  condemns  as  hateful  alike 
to  God  and  God's  enemies? 

We  would  not  be  understood  as  speaking  lightly  of  the  respect 
due  to  constitutional  forms,  all  the  more  essential  under  a  government 
like  ours  and  in  tunes  like  these.  But  where  undue  respect  for  the 
form  will  lose  us  the  substance,  and  where  the  substance,  as  in  this 
case,  is  nothing  less  than  the  country  itself,  to  be  over-scrupulous 
would  be  unwise.  Who  are  most  tender  in  their  solicitude  that  we 
keep  sacred  the  letter  of  the  law,  in  order  that  its  spirit  may  not  keep 
us  alive  ?  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  and  those  who,  in  the  Free  States, 
would  have  been  his  associates,  but  must  content  themselves  with 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  561 

being  his  political  guerilleros.  If  Davis  had  succeeded,  would  he  have 
had  any  scruples  of  constitutional  delicacy?  And  if  he  has  not 
succeeded,  is  it  not  mainly  owing  to  measures  which  his  disappointed 
partisans  denounce  as  unconstitutional  ? 

We  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  think  that  Mr.  Lincoln  has  done 
anything  that  would  furnish  a  precedent  dangerous  to  our  liberties, 
or  in  any  way  overstepped  the  just  limits  of  his  constitutional  dis- 
cretion. If  hi§  course  has  been  unusual,  it  was  because  the  danger 
was  equally  so.  It  cannot  be  so  truly  said  that  he  has  strained  his 
prerogative,  as  that  the  imperious  necessity  has  exercised  its  own. 
Surely  the  framers  of  the  Constitution  never  dreamed  that  they  were 
making  a  strait  waistcoat,  in  which  the  nation  was  to  lie  helpless 
while  traitors  were  left  free  to  do  their  will.  In  tunes  like  these,  men 
seldom  settle  precisely  the  principles  on  which  they  shall  act,  but 
rather  adjust  those  on  which  they  have  acted  to  the  lines  of  precedent 
as  well  as  they  can  after  the  event.  This  is  what  the  English  Parlia- 
ment did  in  the  Act  of  Settlement.  Congress,  after  all,  will  only  be 
called  on  for  the  official  draft  of  an  enactment,  the  terms  of  which 
have  been  already  decided  by  agencies  beyond  their  control.  Even 
while  they  are  debating,  the  current  is  sweeping  them  on  toward  new 
relations  of  policy.  At  worst,  a  new  precedent  is  pretty  sure  of 
pardon,  if  it  successfully  meet  a  new  occasion.  It  is  a  harmless 
pleasantry  to  call  Mr.  Lincoln  "Abraham  the  First," — we  remember 
when  a  similar  title  was  applied  to  President  Jackson;  and  it  will 
not  be  easy,  we  suspect,  to  persuade  a  people  who  have  more  liberty 
than  they  know  what  to  do  with,  that  they  are  the  victims  of  despotic 
tyranny. 

Mr.  Lincoln  probably  thought  it  more  convenient,  to  say  the 
least,  to  have  a  country  left  without  a  constitution,  than  a  constitution 
without  a  country.  We  have  no  doubt  we  shall  save  both;  for  if  we 
take  care  of  the  one,  the  other  will  take  care  of  itself.  Sensible  men, 
and  it  is  the  sensible  men  in  any  country  who  at  last  shape  its  policy, 
will  be  apt  to  doubt  whether  it  is  true  conservatism,  after  the  fire 
is  got  under,  to  insist  on  keeping  up  the  flaw  in  the  chimney  by 
which  it  made  its  way  into  the  house.  Radicalism  may  be  a  very 
dangerous  thing,  and  so  is  calomel,  but  not  when  it  is  the  only  means 
of  saving  the  life  of  the  patient.  Names  are  of  great  influence  in 
ordinary  times,  when  they  are  backed  by  the  vis  inertia  of  lifelong 


$62  AMERICAN  PROSE 


prejudice,  but  they  have  little  power  in  comparison  with  a  sense  of 
interest ;  and  though,  in  peaceful  times,  it  may  be  highly  respectable 
to  be  conservative  merely  for  the  sake  of  being  so,  though  without 
very  clear  notions  of  anything  in  particular  to  be  conserved,  what  we 
want  now  is  the  prompt  decision  that  will  not  hesitate  between  the 
bale  of  silk  and  the  ship  when  a  leak  is  to  be  stopped.  If  we  succeed 
in  saving  the  great  landmarks  of  freedom,  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
in  settling  our  constitutional  boundaries  again.  We  have  no  sym- 
pathy to  spare  for  the  pretended  anxieties  of  men  who,  only  two 
years  gone,  were  willing  that  Jefferson  Davis  should  break  all  the 
ten  commandments  together,  and  would  now  impeach  Mr.  Lincoln 
for  a  scratch  on  the  surface  of  the  tables  where  they  are  engraved. 

We  cannot  well  understand  the  theory  which  seems  to  allow  the 
Rebels  some  special  claim  to  protection  by  the  very  Constitution 
which  they  rose  in  arms  to  destroy.  Still  less  can  we  understand  the 
apprehensions  of  many  persons  lest  the  institution  of  slavery  should 
receive  some  detriment,  as  if  it  were  the  balance-wheel  of  our  system, 
instead  of  its  single  element  of  disturbance.  We  admit  that  we 
always  have  thought,  and  think  still,  that  the  great  object  of  the  war 
should  be  the  restoration  of  the  Union  at  all  hazards,  and  at  any 
sacrifice  short  of  honor.  And  however  many  honest  men  may  scruple 
as  to  law,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  are  put  under  bonds  of 
honor  by  the  President's  proclamation.  If  the  destruction  of  slavery 
is  to  be  a  consequence  of  the  war,  shall  we  regret  it  ?  If  it  be  needful 
to  the  successful  prosecution  of  the  war,  shall  any  one  oppose  it? 
Is  it  out  of  the  question  to  be  constitutional,  without  putting  the 
slaveholders  back  precisely  where  they  were  before  they  began  the 
rebellion?  This  seems  to  be  the  ground  taken  by  the  opposition, 
but  it  becomes  more  and  more  certain  that  the  people,  instructed  by 
the  experience  of  the  past  three  years,  will  never  consent  to  any 
plan  of  adjustment  that  does  not  include  emancipation.  If  Congress 
need  any  other  precedent  than  solus  populi  supreme  lex  for  giving 
the  form  and  force  of  law  to  the  public  will,  they  may  find  one  in  the 
act  of  Parliament  which  abolished  the  feudal  privileges  of  the  High- 
land chiefs  in  1747.  A  great  occasion  is  not  to  be  quibbled  with,  but 
to  be  met  with  that  clear-sighted  courage  which  deprives  all  objections 
of  their  force,  if  it  does  not  silence  them.  To  stop  short  of  the  only 
measure  that  can  by  any  possibility  be  final  and  decisive,  would  be  to 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  563 

pronounce  rebellion  a  harmless  eccentricity.  To  interpret  the  Consti- 
tution has  hitherto  been  the  exclusive  prerogative  of  Slavery:  it 
will  be  strange  if  Freedom  cannot  find  a  clause  in  it  that  will  serve 
her  purpose.  To  scruple  at  disarming  our  deadliest  foe,  would  be 
mere  infatuation.  We  can  conceive  of  nothing  parallel,  except  to 
have  had  it  decided  that  the  arrest  of  Guy  Fawkes  and  the  confisca- 
tion of  his  materials  were  a  violation  of  Magna  Charta;  that  he 
should  be  put  back  in  the  cellar  of  Westminster  palace,  his  gun- 
powder, his  matches,  his  dark-lantern,  restored  to  him,  with  handsome 
damages  for  his  trouble,  and  Parliament  assembled  overhead  to  give 
him  another  chance  for  the  free  exercise  of  his  constitutional  rights. 

We  believe,  and  our  belief  is  warranted  by  experience,  that  all 
measures  will  be  found  to  have  been  constitutional  at  last  on  which 
the  people  are  overwhelmingly  united.  We  must  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fact,  that  whatever  is  eatfro-constitutional  is  not  necessarily  uncon- 
stitutional. The  recent  proclamation  of  amnesty  will,  we  have  no 
doubt,  in  due  time  bring  a  vast  accession  of  strength  to  the  emancipa- 
tionists from  the  slaveholding  States  themselves.  The  danger  of 
slavery  has  always  been  in  the  poor  whites  of  the  South;  and  wherever 
freedom  of  the  press  penetrates, — and  it  always  accompanies  our 
armies, — the  evil  thing  is  doomed.  Let  no  one  who  remembers 
what  has  taken  place  in  Maryland  and  Missouri  think  such  antici- 
pations visionary.  The  people  of  the  South  have  been  also  put  to 
school  during  these  three  years,  under  a  sharper  schoolmistress,  too, 
than  even  ours  has  been,  and  the  deadliest  enemies  of  slavery  will 
be  found  among  those  who  have  suffered  most  from  its  indirect 
evils.  It  is  only  by  its  extinction — for  without  it  no  secure  union 
would  be  possible — that  the  sufferings  and  losses  of  the  war  can  be 
repaid.  That  extinction  accomplished,  our  wounds  will  not  be  long 
in  healing.  Apart  from  the  slaveholding  class,  which  is  numerically 
small,  and  would  be  socially  insignificant  without  its  privileges,  there 
are  no  such  mutual  antipathies  between  the  two  sections  as  the 
conspirators,  to  suit  their  own  purposes,  have  asserted,  and  even 
done  their  best  to  excite.  We  do  not  like  the  Southerners  less  for  the 
gallantry  and  devotion  they  have  shown  even  in  a  bad  cause,  and  they 
have  learned  to  respect  the  same  qualities  in  us.  There  is  no  longer 
the  nonsensical  talk  about  Cavaliers  and  Puritans,  nor  does  the  one 
gallant  Southron  any  longer  pine  for  ten  Yankees  as  the  victims  of  his 


564  AMERICAN  PROSE 


avenging  steel.  As  for  subjugation,  when  people  are  beaten  they  are 
beaten,  and  every  nation  has  had  its  turn.  No  sensible  man  in  the 
North  would  insist  on  any  terms  except  such  as  are  essential  to  assure 
the  stability  of  peace.  To  talk  of  the  South  as  our  future  Poland  is 
is  to  talk  without  book;  for  no  region  rich,  prosperous,  and  free  could 
ever  become  so.  It  is  a  geographical  as  well  as  a  moral  absurdity. 
With  peace  restored,  slavery  rooted  out,  and  harmony  sure  to  follow, 
we  shall  realize  a  power  and  prosperity  beyond  even  the  visions  of 
the  Fourth  of  July  orator,  and  we  shall  see  Freedom,  while  she 
proudly  repairs  the  ruins  of  war,  as  the  Italian  poet  saw  her, — 
"Girar  la  Liberia  mirai 

E  baciar  lieta  ogni  ruina  e  dire 

Ruine  si,  ma  servitu  non  mai." 

CARLYLE 

A  feeling  of  comical  sadness  is  likely  to  come  over  the  mind  of 
any  middle-aged  man  who  sets  himself  to  recollecting  the  names  of 
different  authors  that  have  been  famous,  and  the  number  of  con- 
temporary immortalities  whose  end  he  has  seen  since  coming  to  man- 
hood. Many  a  light,  hailed  by  too  careless  observers  as  a  fixed  star, 
has  proved  to  be  only  a  short-lived  lantern  at  the  tail  of  a  newspaper 
kite.  That  literary  heaven  which  our  youth  saw  dotted  thick 
with  rival  glories,  we  find  now  to  have  been  a  stage-sky  merely, 
artificially  enkindled  from  behind;  and  the  cynical  daylight  which  is 
sure  to  follow  all  theatrical  enthusiasms  shows  us  ragged  holes  where 
once  were  luminaries,  sheer  vacancy  instead  of  lustre.  Our  earthly 
reputations,  says  a  great  poet,  are  the  color  of  grass,  and  the  same 
sun  that  makes  the  green  bleaches  it  out  again.  But  next  morning 
is  not  the  tune  to  criticise  the  scene-painter's  firmament,  nor  is  it 
quite  fair  to  examine  coldly  a  part  of  some  general  illusion  in  the 
absence  of  that  sympathetic  enthusiasm,  that  self -surrender  of  the 
fancy,  which  made  it  what  it  was.  It  would  not  be  safe  for  all  neg- 
lected authors  to  comfort  themselves  in  Wordsworth's  fashion,  infer- 
ring genius  in  an  inverse  proportion  to  public  favor,  and  a  high  and 
solitary  merit  from  the  world's  indifference.  On  the  contrary,  it 
would  be  more  just  to  argue  from  popularity  to  a  certain  amount  of 
real  value,  though  it  may  not  be  of  that  permanent  quality  which 
insures  enduring  fame.  The  contemporary  world  and  Wordsworth 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  565 

were  both  half  right.  He  undoubtedly  owned  and  worked  the  richest 
vein  of  his  period;  but  he  offered  to  his  contemporaries  a  heap  of 
gold-bearing  quartz  where  the  baser  mineral  made  the  greater  show, 
and  the  purchaser  must  do  his  own  crushing  and  smelting,  with  no 
guaranty  but  the  bare  word  of  the  miner.  It  was  not  enough  that 
certain  bolder  adventurers  should  now  and  then  show  a  nugget 
in  proof  of  the  success  of  their  venture.  The  gold  of  the  poet  must 
be  refined,  moulded,  stamped  with  the  image  and  superscription  of  his 
time,  but  with  a  beauty  of  design  and  finish  that  are  of  no  time. 
The  work  must  surpass  the  material.  Wordsworth  was  wholly  void 
of  that  shaping  imagination  which  is  the  highest  criterion  of  a  poet. 
Immediate  popularity  and  lasting  fame,  then,  would  seem  to  be 
the  result  of  different  qualities,  and  not  of  mere  difference  in  degree. 
It  is  safe  to  prophesy  a  certain  durability  of  recognition  for  any  author 
who  gives  evidence  of  intellectual  force,  in  whatever  kind,  above  the 
average  amount.  There  are  names  in  literary  history  which  are 
only  names;  and  the  works  associated  with  them,  like  acts  of  Con- 
gress already  agreed  on  in  debate,  are  read  by  their  titles  and  passed. 
What  is  it  that  insures  what  may  be  called  living  fame,  so  that  a  book 
shall  be  at  once  famous  and  read  ?  What  is  it  that  relegates  divine 
Cowley  to  that  remote,  uncivil  Pontus  of  the  "British  Poets,"  and 
keeps  garrulous  Pepys  within  the  cheery  circle  of  the  evening  lamp  and 
fire  ?  Originality,  eloquence,  sense,  imagination,  not  one  of  them  is 
enough  by  itself,  but  only  in  some  happy  mixture  and  proportion. 
Imagination  seems  to  possess  in  itself  more  of  the  antiseptic  property 
than  any  other  single  quality;  but,  without  less  showy  and  more 
substantial  allies,  it  can  at  best  give  only  deathlessness,  without 
the  perpetual  youth  that  makes  it  other  than  dreary.  It  were  easy 
to  find  examples  of  this  Tithonus  immortality,  setting  its  victims 
apart  from  both  gods  and  men;  helpless  duration,  undying,  to  be 
sure,  but  sapless  and  voiceless  also,  and  long  ago  deserted  by  the 
fickle  Hemera.  And  yet  chance  could  confer  that  gift  on  Glaucus, 
which  love  and  the  consent  of  Zeus  failed  to  secure  for  the  darling  of 
the  dawn.  Is  it  mere  luck,  then  ?  Luck  may,  and  often  does,  have 
some  share  in  ephemeral  successes,  as  in  a  gambler's  winnings  spent 
as  soon  as  got,  but  not  in  any  lasting  triumph  over  time.  Solid 
success  must  be  based  on  solid  qualities  and  the  honest  culture  of 
them. 


566  AMERICAN  PROSE 


The  first  element  of  contemporary  popularity  is  undoubtedly  the 
power  of  entertaining.  If  a  man  have  anything  to  tell,  the  world 
cannot  be  expected  to  listen  to  him  unless  he  have  perfected  himself 
in  the  best  way  of  telling  it.  People  are  not  to  be  argued  into  a 
pleasurable  sensation,  nor  is  taste  to  be  compelled  by  any  syllogism, 
however  stringent.  An  author  may  make  himself  very  popular,  how- 
ever, and  even  justly  so,  by  appealing  to  the  passion  of  the  moment, 
without  having  anything  in  him  that  shall  outlast  the  public  whim 
which  he  satisfies.  Churchill  is  a  remarkable  example  of  this.  He 
had  a  surprising  extemporary  vigor  of  mind;  his  phrase  carries  great 
weight  of  blow;  he  undoubtedly  surpassed  all  contemporaries,  as 
Cowper  says  of  him,  in  a  certain  rude  and  earth-born  vigor;  but  his 
verse  is  dust  and  ashes  now,  solemnly  inurned,  of  course,  in  the 
Chalmers  columbarium,  and  without  danger  of  violation.  His  brawn 
and  muscle  are  fading  traditions  now,  while  the  fragile,  shivering 
genius  of  Cowper  is  still  a  good  life  on  the  books  of  the  Critical 
Insurance  Office.  "Is  it  not,  then,  loftiness  of  mind  that  puts  one 
by  the  side  of  Virgil?"  cries  poor  old  Cavalcanti  at  his  wits'  end. 
Certainly  not  altogether  that.  There  must  be  also  the  great  Man- 
tuan's  art ;  his  power,  not  only  of  being  strong  in  parts,  but  of  making 
those  parts  coherent  in  an  harmonious  whole,  and  tributary  to  it. 
Gray,  if  we  may  believe  the  commentators,  has  not  an  idea,  scarcely 
an  epithet,  that  he  can  call  his  own;  and  yet  he  is,  in  the  best  sense, 
one  of  the  classics  of  English  literature.  He  had  exquisite  felicity 
of  choice;  his  dictionary  had  no  vulgar  word  in  it,  no  harsh  one,  but 
all  culled  from  the  luckiest  moods  of  poets,  and  with  a  faint  but 
delicious  aroma  of  association;  he  had  a  perfect  sense  of  sound,  and 
one  idea  without  which  all  the  poetic  outfit  (si  absit  prudentia)  is  of 
little  avail,— that  of  combination  and  arrangement,  in  short,  of  art. 
The  poets  from  whom  he  helped  himself  have  no  more  claim  to  any 
of  his  poems  as  wholes,  than  the  various  beauties  of  Greece  (if  the 
old  story  were  true)  to  the  Venus  of  the  artist. 

Imagination,  as  we  have  said,  has  more  virtue  to  keep  a  book 
alive  than  any  other  single  faculty.  Burke  is  rescued  from  the  usual 
doom  of  orators,  because  his  learning,  his  experience,  his  sagacity 
are  rimmed  with  a  halo  by  this  bewitching  light  behind  the  intellectual 
eye  from  the  highest  heaven  of  the  brain.  Shakespeare  has  impreg- 
nated his  common  sense  with  the  steady  glow  of  it,  and  answers  the 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  567 

mood  of  youth  and  age,  of  high  and  low,  immortal  as  that  dateless 
substance  of  the  soul  he  wrought  in.  To  have  any  chance  of  lasting, 
a  book  must  satisfy,  not  merely  some  fleeting  fancy  of  the  day,  but  a 
constant  longing  and  hunger  of  human  nature;  and  it  needs  only  a 
superficial  study  of  literature  to  be  convinced  that  real  fame  depends 
rather  on  the  sum  of  an  author's  powers  than  on  any  brilliancy  of 
special  parts.  There  must  be  wisdom  as  well  as  wit,  sense  no  less  than 
imagination,  judgment  in  equal  measure  with  fancy,  and  the  fiery 
rocket  must  be  bound  fast  to  its  poor  wooden  stick  if  it  would  mount 
and  draw  all  eyes.  There  are  some  who  think  that  the  brooding 
patience  which  a  great  work  calls  for  belonged  exclusively  to  an 
earlier  period  than  ours.  Others  lay  the  blame  on  our  fashion  of 
periodical  publication,  which  necessitates  a  sensation  and  a  crisis 
in  every  number,  and  forces  the  writer  to  strive  for  startling  effects, 
instead  of  that  general  lowness  of  tone  which  is  the  last  achievement 
of  the  artist.  The  simplicity  of  antique  passion,  the  homeliness  of 
antique  pathos,  seem  not  merely  to  be  gone  out  of  fashion,  but  out  of 
being  as  well.  Modern  poets  appear  rather  to  tease  their  words  into 
a  fury,  than  to  infuse  them  with  the  deliberate  heats  of  their  matured 
conception,  and  strive  to  replace  the  rapture  of  the  mind  with  a  fervid 
intensity  of  phrase.  Our  reaction  from  the  decorous  platitudes  of  the 
last  century  has  no  doubt  led  us  to  excuse  this,  and  to  be  thankful 
for  something  like  real  fire,  though  of  stubble;  but  our  prevailing  style 
of  criticism,  which  regards  parts  rather  than  wholes,  which  dwells 
on  the  beauty  of  passages,  and,  above  all,  must  have  its  languid 
nerves  pricked  with  the  expected  sensation  at  whatever  cost,  has 
done  all  it  could  to  confirm  us  in  our  evil  way.  Passages  are  good 
when  they  lead  to  something,  when  they  are  necessary  parts  of  the 
building,  but  they  are  not  good  to  dwell  in.  This  taste  for  the  start- 
ling reminds  us  of  something  which  happened  once  at  the  burning 
of  a  country  meeting-house.  The  building  stood  on  a  hill,  and,  apart 
from  any  other  considerations,  the  fire  was  as  picturesque  as  could  be 
desired.  When  all  was  a  black  heap,  licking  itself  here  and  there 
with  tongues  of  fire,  there  rushed  up  a  farmer  gasping  anxiously, 
"Hez  the  bell  fell  yit  ?"  An  ordinary  fire  was  no  more  to  him  than 
that  on  his  hearthstone;  even  the  burning  of  a  meeting-house,  in 
itself  a  vulcanic  rarity,  (so  long  as  he  was  of  another  parish,)  could 
not  tickle  his  outworn  palate;  but  he  had  hoped  for  a  certain  tang  in 


568  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  downcome  of  the  bell  that  might  recall  the  boyish  flavor  of  con- 
flagration. There  was  something  dramatic,  no  doubt,  in  this  surprise 
of  the  brazen  sentinel  at  his  post,  but  the  breathless  rustic  has  always 
seemed  to  us  a  type  of  the  prevailing  delusion  in  aesthetics.  Alas! 
if  the  bell  must  fall  in  every  stanza  or  every  monthly  number,  how 
shall  an  author  contrive  to  stir  us  at  last,  unless  with  whole  Moscows, 
crowned  with  the  tintinnabulary  crash  of  the  Kremlin?  For  our- 
selves, we  are  glad  to  feel  that  we  are  still  able  to  find  contentment  in 
the  more  conversational  and  domestic  tone  of  our  old-fashioned 
wood-fire.  No  doubt  a  great  part  of  our  pleasure  in  reading  is 
unexpectedness,  whether  in  turn  of  thought  or  of  phrase;  but  an 
emphasis  out  of  place,  an  intensity  of  expression  not  founded  on 
sincerity  of  moral  or  intellectual  conviction,  remind  one  of  the  under 
scorings  in  young  ladies'  letters,  a  wonder  even  to  themselves  under  the 
colder  north-light  of  matronage.  It  is  the  part  of  the  critic,  however, 
to  keep  cool  under  whatever  circumstances,  and  to  reckon  that  the 
excesses  of  an  author  will  be  at  first  more  attractive  to  the  many  than 
that  average  power  which  shall  win  him  attention  with  a  new  genera- 
tion of  men.  It  is  seldom  found  out  by  the  majority,  till  after  a 
considerable  interval,  that  he  was  the  original  man  who  contrived 
to  be  simply  natural, — the  hardest  lesson  in  the  school  of  art  and  the 
latest  learned,  if,  indeed,  it  be  a  thing  capable  of  acquisition  at  all. 
The  most  winsome  and  wayward  of  brooks  draws  now  and  then  some 
lover's  foot  to  its  intimate  reserve,  while  the  spirt  of  a  bursting 
water-pipe  gathers  a  gaping  crowd  forthwith. 

Mr.  Carlyle  is  an  author  who  has  now  been  so  long  before  the 
world,  that  we  may  feel  toward  him  something  of  the  unprejudice 
of  posterity.  It  has  long  been  evident  that  he  had  no  more  ideas 
to  bestow  upon  us,  and  that  no  new  turn  of  his  kaleidoscope 
would  give  us  anything  but  some  variation  of  arrangement 
in  the  brilliant  colors  of  his  style.  It  is  perhaps  possible,  then,  to 
arrive  at  some  not  wholly  inadequate  estimate  of  his  place  as  a 
writer,  and  especially  of  the  value  of  the  ideas  whose  advocate  he 
makes  himself,  with  a  bitterness  and  violence  that  increase,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  in  proportion  as  his  inward  conviction  of  their  truth 
diminishes. 

The  leading  characteristics  of  an  author  who  is  in  any  sense 
original,  that  is  to  say,  who  does  not  merely  reproduce,  but  modifies 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  569 

the  influence  of  tradition,  culture,  and  contemporary  thought  upon 
himself  by  some  admixture  of  his  own,  may  commonly  be  traced 
more  or  less  clearly  in  his  earliest  works.  This  is  more  strictly  true, 
no  doubt,  of  poets,  because  the  imagination  is  a  fixed  quantity,  not 
to  be  increased  by  any  amount  of  study  and  reflection.  Skill,  wisdom, 
and  even  wit  are  cumulative;  but  that  diviner  faculty,  which  is  the 
spiritual  eye,  though  it  may  be  trained  and  sharpened,  cannot  be 
added  to  by  taking  thought.  This  has  always  been  something 
innate,  unaccountable,  to  be  laid  to  a  happy  conjunction  of  the  stars. 
Goethe,  the  last  of  the  great  poets,  accordingly  takes  pains  to  tell  us 
under  what  planets  he  was  born;  and  in  him  it  is  curious  how  uniform 
the  imaginative  quality  is  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  long 
literary  activity.  His  early  poems  show  maturity,  his  mature  ones 
a  youthful  freshness.  The  apple  already  lies  potentially  in  the 
blossom,  as  that  may  be  traced  also  in  the  ripened  fruit.  With  a 
mere  change  of  emphasis,  Goethe  might  be  called  an  old  boy  at 
both  ends  of  his  career. 

In  the  earliest  authorship  of  Mr.  Carlyle  we  find  some  not 
obscure  hints  of  the  future  man.  Nearly  fifty  years  ago  he  con- 
tributed a  few  literary  and  critical  articles  to  the  Edinburgh  Encyclo- 
paedia. The  outward  fashion  of  them  is  that  of  the  period;  but  they 
are  distinguished  by  a  certain  security  of  judgment  remarkable  at 
any  time,  remarkable  especially  in  one  so  young.  British  criticism 
has  been  always  more  or  less  parochial;  has  never,  indeed,  quite 
freed  itself  from  sectarian  cant  and  planted  itself  honestly  on  the 
aesthetic  point  of  view.  It  cannot  quite  persuade  itself  that  truth 
is  of  immortal  essence,  totally  independent  of  all  assistance  from 
quarterly  journals  or  the  British  army  and  navy.  Carlyle,  in  these 
first  essays,  already  shows  the  influence  of  his  master,  Goethe,  the 
most  widely  receptive  of  critics.  In  a  compact  notice  of  Montaigne, 
there  is  not  a  word  as  to  his  religious  scepticism.  The  character  is 
looked  at  purely  from  its  human  and  literary  sides.  As  illustrating 
the  bent  of  the  author's  mind  the  following  passage  is  most  to  our 
purpose:  "A  modern  reader  will  not  easily  cavil  at  the  patient  and 
good-natured,  though  exuberant  egotism  which  brings  back  to  our 
view  'the  form  and  pressure'  of  a  time  long  past.  The  habits  and 
humors,  the  mode  of  acting  and  thinking,  which  characterized  a  Gascon 
gentleman  in  the  sixteenth  century,  cannot  fail  to  amuse  an  inquirer  of  the 


570  AMERICAN  PROSE 


nineteenth;  while  the  faithful  delineation  of  human  feelings,  in  all  their 
strength  and  weakness,  will  serve  as  a  mirror  to  every  mind  capable  oj 
self-examination."  We  find  here  no  uncertain  indication  of  that  eye 
for  the  moral  picturesque,  and  that  sympathetic  appreciation  of 
character,  which  within  the  next  few  years  were  to  make  Carlyle  the 
first  in  insight  of  English  critics  and  the  most  vivid  of  English  histori- 
ans. In  all  his  earlier  writing  he  never  loses  sight  of  his  master's  great 
rule,  Den  Gegenstand  fest  zu  halten.  He  accordingly  gave  to  English- 
men the  first  humanly  possible  likeness  of  Voltaire, Diderot, Mirabeau, 
and  others,  who  had  hitherto  been  measured  by  the  usual  British 
standard  of  their  respect  for  the  geognosy  of  Moses  and  the  historic 
credibility  of  the  Books  of  Chronicles.  What  was  the  real  meaning 
of  this  phenomenon?  what  the  amount  of  this  man's  honest  per- 
formance in  the  world  ?  and  in  what  does  he  show  that  family-likeness, 
common  to  all  the  sons  of  Adam,  which  gives  us  a  fair  hope  of  being 
able  to  comprehend  him  ?  These  were  the  questions  which  Carlyle 
seems  to  have  set  himself  honestly  to  answer  in  the  critical  writings 
which  fill  the  first  period  of  his  life  as  a  man  of  letters.  In  this 
mood  he  rescued  poor  Boswell  from  the  unmerited  obliquy  of  an 
ungrateful  generation,  and  taught  us  to  see  something  half-comically 
beautiful  in  the  poor,  weak  creature,  with  his  pathetic  instinct  of 
reverence  for  what  was  nobler,  wiser,  and  stronger  than  himself. 
Everything  that  Mr.  Carlyle  wrote  during  this  first  period  thrills 
with  the  purest  appreciation  of  whatever  is  brave  and  beautiful  in 
human  nature,  with  the  most  vehement  scorn  of  cowardly  compromise 
with  things  base;  and  yet,  immitigable  as  his  demand  for  the  highest 
in  us  seems  to  be,  there  is  always  something  reassuring  in  the  humor- 
ous sympathy  with  mortal  frailty  which  softens  condemnation  and 
consoles  for  shortcoming.  The  remarkable  feature  of  Mr.  Carlyle's 
criticism  (see,  for  example,  his  analysis  and  exposition  of  Goethe's 
"Helena")  is  the  sleuth-hound  instinct  with  which  he  presses  on  to 
the  matter  of  his  theme, — never  turned  aside  by  a  false  scent,  regard- 
less of  the  outward  beauty  of  form,  sometimes  almost  contemptuous 
of  it,  in  his  hunger  after  the  intellectual  nourishment  which  it  may 
hide.  The  delicate  skeleton  of  admirably  articulated  and  related 
parts  which  underlies  and  sustains  every  true  work  of  art,  and  keeps 
it  from  sinking  on  itself  a  shapeless  heap,  he  would  crush  remorselessly 
to  come  at  the  marrow  of  meaning.  With  him  the  ideal  sense  is 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  571 

secondary  to  the  ethical  and  metaphysical,  and  he  has  but  a  faint 
conception  of  their  possible  unity. 

By  degrees  the  humorous  element  in  his  nature  gains  ground,  till 
it  overmasters  all  the  rest.  Becoming  always  more  boisterous  and 
obtrusive,  it  ends  at  last,  as  such  humor  must,  in  cynicism.  In 
" Sartor  Resartus "  it  is  still  kindly,  still  infused  with  sentiment;  and 
the  book,  with  its  mixture  of  indignation  and  farce,  strikes  one  as 
might  the  prophecies  of  Jeremiah,  if  the  marginal  comments  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Sterne  in  his  wildest  mood  had  by  some  accident  been  incor- 
porated with  the  text.  In  "Sartor"  the  marked  influence  of  Jean 
Paul  is  undeniable,  both  in  matter  and  manner.  It  is  curious  for 
one  who  studies  the  action  and  reaction  of  national  literatures  on 
each  other,  to  see  the  humor  of  Swift  and  Sterne  and  Fielding,  after 
filtering  through  Richter,  reappear  in  Carlyle  with  a  tinge  of  German- 
ism that  makes  it  novel,  alien,  or  even  displeasing,  as  the  case 
may  be,  to  the  English  mind.  Unhappily  the  bit  of  mother 
from  Swift's  vinegar-barrel  has  had  strength  enough  to  sour  all 
the  rest.  The  whimsicality  of  "Tristram  Shandy,"  which,  even 
in  the  original,  has  too  often  the  effect  of  forethought,  becomes 
a  deliberate  artifice  in  Richter,  and  at  last  a  mere  mannerism  in 
Carlyle. 

Mr.  Carlyle  in  his  critical  essays  had  the  advantage  of  a  well- 
defined  theme,  and  of  limits  both  in  the  subject  and  in  the  space  allowed 
for  its  treatment,  which  kept  his  natural  extravagance  within  bounds, 
and  compelled  some  sort  of  discretion  and  compactness.  The  great 
merit  of  these  essays  lay  in  a  criticism  based  on  wide  and  various 
study,  which,  careless  of  tradition,  applied  its  standard  to  the  real 
and  not  the  contemporary  worth  of  the  literary  or  other  performance 
to  be  judged,  and  in  an  unerring  eye  for  that  fleeting  expression  of  the 
moral  features  of  character,  a  perception  of  which  alone  makes  the 
drawing  of  a  coherent  likeness  possible.  Their  defect  was  a  tendency, 
gaining  strength  with  years,  to  confound  the  moral  with  the  aesthetic 
standard,  and  to  make  the  value  of  an  author's  work  dependent  on  the 
general  force  of  his  nature  rather  than  on  its  special  fitness  for  a  given 
task.  In  proportion  as  his  humor  gradually  overbalanced  the  other 
qualities  of  his  mind,  his  taste  for  the  eccentric,  amorphous,  and 
violent  in  men  became  excessive,  disturbing  more  and  more  his  per- 
ception of  the  more  commonplace  attributes  which  give  consistency 


572  AMERICAN  PROSE 


to  portraiture.  His  "  French  Revolution  "  is  a  series  of  lurid  pictures, 
unmatched  for  vehement  power,  in  which  the  figures  of  such  sons  of 
earth  as  Mirabeau  and  Danton  loom  gigantic  and  terrible  as  in  the 
glare  of  an  eruption,  their  shadows  swaying  far  and  wide  grotesquely 
awful.  But  all  is  painted  by  eruption-flashes  in  violent  light  and 
shade.  There  are  no  half-tints,  no  gradations,  and  we  find  it  impos- 
sible to  account  for  the  continuance  in  power  of  less  Titanic  actors  in 
the  tragedy  like  Robespierre,  on  any  theory  whether  of  human 
nature  or  of  individual  character  supplied  by  Mr.  Carlyle.  Of  his 
success,  however,  in  accomplishing  what  he  aimed  at,  which  was  to 
haunt  the  mind  with  memories  of  a  horrible  political  nightmare,  there 
can  be  no  doubt. 

Goethe  says,  apparently  thinking  of  Richter,  "The  worthy 
Germans  have  persuaded  themselves  that  the  essence  of  true  humor 
is  formlessness."  Heine  had  not  yet  shown  that  a  German  might 
combine  the  most  airy  humor  with  a  sense  of  form  as  delicate  as 
Goethe's  own,  and  that  there  was  no  need  to  borrow  the.  bow  of 
Philoctetes  for  all  kinds  of  game.  Mr.  Carlyle's  own  tendency  was 
toward  the  lawless,  and  the  attraction  of  Jean  Paul  made  it  an  over- 
mastering one.  Goethe,  we  think,  might  have  gone  farther,  and 
affirmed  that  nothing  but  the  highest  artistic  sense  can  prevent 
humor  from  degenerating  into  the  grotesque,  and  thence  downwards 
to  utter  formlessness.  Rabelais  is  a  striking  example  of  it.  The 
moral  purpose  of  his  book  cannot  give  it  that  unity  which  the  instinct 
and  forethought  of  art  only  can  bring  forth.  Perhaps  we  owe  the 
masterpiece  of  humorous  literature  to  the  fact  that  Cervantes  had 
been  trained  to  authorship  in  a  school  where  form  predominated 
over  substance,  and  the  most  convincing  proof  of  the  supremacy 
of  art  at  the  highest  period  of  Greek  literature  is  to  be  found  in  Aris- 
tophanes. Mr.  Carlyle  has  no  artistic  sense  of  form  or  rhythm, 
scarcely  of  proportion.  Accordingly  he  looks  on  verse  with  con- 
tempt as  something  barbarous, — the  savage  ornament  which  a  higher 
refinement  will  abolish,  as  it  has  tattooing  and  nose-rings.  With  a 
concept! ve  imagination  vigorous  beyond  any  in  his  generation,  with 
a  mastery  of  language  equalled  only  by  the  greatest  poets,  he  wants 
altogether  the  plastic  imagination,  the  shaping  faculty,  which  would 
have  made  him  a  poet  in  the  highest  sense.  He  is  a  preacher  and  a 
prophet, — anything  you  will, — but  an  artist  he  is  not,  and  never  can 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  573 

be.    It  is  always  the  knots  and  gnarls  of  the  oak  that  he  admires, 
never  the  perfect  and  balanced  tree. 

It  is  certainly  more  agreeable  to  be  grateful  for  what  we  owe 
an  author,  than  to  blame  him  for  what  he  cannot  give  us.  But  it  is 
the  business  of  a  critic  to  trace  faults  of  style  and  of  thought  to  their 
root  in  character  and  temperament, — to  show  their  necessary  rela- 
tion to,  and  dependence  on,  each  other, — and  to  find  some  more 
trustworthy  explanation  than  mere  wantonness  of  will  for  the  moral 
obliquities  of  a  man  so  largely  moulded  and  gifted  as  Mr.  Carlyle. 
So  long  as  he  was  merely  an  exhorter  or  dehorter,  we  were  thankful 
for  such  eloquence,  such  humor,  such  vivid  or  grotesque  images,  and 
such  splendor  of  illustration  as  only  he  could  give;  but  when  he 
assumes  to  be  a  teacher  of  moral  and  political  philosophy,  when  he 
himself  takes  to  compounding  the  social  panaceas  he  has  made  us 
laugh  at  so  often,  and  advertises  none  as  genuine  but  his  own,  we 
begin  to  inquire  into  his  qualifications  and  his  defects,  and  to  ask  our- 
selves whether  his  patent  pill  differ  from  others  except  in  the  larger 
amount  of  aloes,  or  have  any  better  recommendation  than  the  supe- 
rior advertising  powers  of  a  mountebank  of  genius.  Comparative 
criticism  teaches  us  that  moral  and  aesthetic  defects  are  more  nearly 
related  than  is  commonly  supposed.  Had  Mr.  Carlyle  been  fitted  out 
completely  by  nature  as  an  artist,  he  would  have  had  an  ideal  hi  his 
work  which  would  have  lifted  his  mind  away  from  the  muddier  part 
of  him,  and  trained  him  to  the  habit  of  seeking  and  seeing  the  harmony 
rather  than  the  discord  and  contradiction  of  things.  His  innate 
love  of  the  picturesque,  (which  is  only  another  form  of  the  senti- 
mentalism  he  so  scoffs  at,  perhaps  as  feeling  it  a  weakness  in  himself,) 
once  turned  in  the  direction  of  character,  and  finding  its  chief  satis- 
faction there,  led  him  to  look  for  that  ideal  of  human  nature  in 
individual  men  which  is  but  fragmentarily  represented  in  the  entire 
race,  and  is  rather  divined  from  the  aspiration,  forever  disenchanted 
to  be  forever  renewed,  of  the  immortal  part  in  us,  than  found  in  any 
example  of  actual  achievement.  A  wiser  temper  would  have  found 
something  more  consoling  than  disheartening  in  the  continual  failure 
of  men  eminently  endowed  to  reach  the  standard  of  this  spiritual 
requirement,  would  perhaps  have  found  in  it  an  inspiring  hint  that  it  is 
mankind,  and  not  special  men,  that  are  to  be  shaped  at  last  into  the 
image  of  God,  and  that  the  endless  life  of  the  generations  may  hope 


574  AMERICAN  PROSE 


to  come  nearer  that  goal  of  which  the  short-breathed  threescore 
years  and  ten  fall  too  unhappily  short. 

But  Mr.  Carlyle  has  invented  the  Hero-cure,  and  all  who  recom- 
mend any  other  method,  or  see  any  hope  of  healing  elsewhere,  are 
either  quacks  and  charlatans  or  their  victims.  His  lively  imagination 
conjures  up  the  image  of  an  impossible  he,  as  contradictorily  endowed 
as  the  chief  personage  in  a  modern  sentimental  novel,  and  who,  at 
all  hazards,  must  not  lead  mankind  like  a  shepherd,  but  bark,  bite, 
and  otherwise  worry  them  toward  the  fold  like  a  truculent  sheep-dog. 
If  Mr.  Carlyle  would  only  now  and  then  recollect  that  men  are  men, 
and  not  sheep, — nay,  that  the  farther  they  are  from  being  such,  the 
more  well  grounded  our  hope  of  one  day  making  something  better 
of  them !  It  is  indeed  strange  that  one  who  values  Will  so  highly  in  the 
greatest,  should  be  blind  to  its  infinite  worth  in  the  least  of  men; 
nay,  that  he  should  so  often  seem  to  confound  it  with  its  irritable  and 
purposeless  counterfeit,  Wilfulness.  The  natural  impatience  of  an 
imaginative  temperament,  which  conceives  so  vividly  the  beauty  and 
desirableness  of  a  nobler  manhood  and  a  diviner  political  order,  makes 
him  fret  at  the  slow  moral  processes  by  which  the  All- Wise  brings 
about  his  ends,  and  turns  the  very  foolishness  of  men  to  his  praise 
and  glory.  Mr.  Carlyle  is  for  calling  down  fire  from  Heaven  whenever 
he  cannot  readily  lay  his  hand  on  the  match-box.  No  doubt  it  is 
somewhat  provoking  that  it  should  be  so  easy  to  build  castles  in  the 
air,  and  so  hard  to  find  tenants  for  them.  It  is  a  singular  intellectual 
phenomenon  to  see  a  man,  who  earlier  in  life  so  thoroughly  appreci- 
ated the  innate  weakness  and  futile  tendency  of  the  "storm  and 
thrust"  period  of  German  literature,  constantly  assimilating,  as  he 
grows  older,  more  and  more  nearly  to  its  principles  and  practice.  It 
is  no  longer  the  sagacious  and  moderate  Goethe  who  is  his  type  of 
what  is  highest  in  human  nature,  but  far  rather  some  Gotz  of  the 
Iron  Hand,  some  assertor  of  the  divine  legitimacy  of  Faustrecht. 
It  is  odd  to  conceive  the  fate  of  Mr.  Carlyle  under  the  sway  of  any 
of  his  heroes, — how  Cromwell  would  have  scorned  him  as  a  babbler 
more  long-winded  than  Prynne,  but  less  clear  and  practical, — how 
Friedrich  would  have  scoffed  at  his  tirades  as  dummes  Zeug  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  romances  of  Crebillon  jWs,  or  possibly  have  clapped 
him  in  a  marching  regiment  as  a  fit  subject  for  the  cane  of  the  sergeant. 
Perhaps  something  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  irritability  is  to  be  laid  to  the 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  575 

account  of  his  early  schoolmastership  at  Ecclefechan.  This  great 
booby  World  is  such  a  dull  boy,  and  will  not  learn  the  lesson  we  have 
taken  such  pains  in  expounding  for  the  fiftieth  time.  Well,  then, 
if  eloquence,  if  example,  if  the  awful  warning  of  other  little  boys  who 
neglected  their  accidence  and  came  to  the  gallows,  if  none  of  these 
avail,  the  birch  at  least  is  left,  and  we  will  try  that.  The  dominie 
spirit  has  become  every  year  more  obtrusive  and  intolerant  in  Mr. 
Carlyle's  writing,  and  the  rod,  instead  of  being  kept  in  its  place  as  a 
resource  for  desperate  cases,  has  become  the  alpha  and  omega  of  all 
successful  training,  the  one  divinely-appointed  means  of  human 
enlightenment  and  progress, — in  short,  the  final  hope  of  that  absurd 
animal  who  fancies  himself  a  little  lower  than  the  angels.  Have  we 
feebly  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  distinction  of  man  was  reason  ? 
Never  was  there  a  more  fatal  misconception.  It  is  in  the  gift  of  unreason 
that  we  are  unenviably  distinguished  from  the  brutes,  whose  nobler 
privilege  of  instinct  saves  them  from  our  blunders  and  our  crimes. 
But  since  Mr.  Carlyle  has  become  possessed  with  the  hallucina- 
tion that  he  is  head-master  of  this  huge  boys'  school  which  we  call  the 
world,  his  pedagogic  birch  has  grown  to  the  taller  proportions  and 
more  ominous  aspect  of  a  gallows.  His  article  on  Dr.'Francia  was  a 
panegyric  of  the  halter,  in  which  the  gratitude  of  mankind  is  invoked 
for  the  self-appointed  dictator  who  had  discovered  in  Paraguay  a 
tree  more  beneficent  than  that  which  produced  the  Jesuits'  bark. 
Mr.  Carlyle  seems  to  be  in  the  condition  of  a  man  who  uses  stimu- 
lants, and  must  increase  his  dose  from  day  to  day  as  the  senses 
become  dulled  under  the  spur.  He  began  by  admiring  strength  of 
character  and  purpose,  and  the  manly  self-denial  which  makes  a 
humble  fortune  great  by  steadfast  loyalty  to  duty.  He  has  gone  on 
till  mere  strength  has  become  such  washy  weakness  that  there  is  no 
longer  any  titillation  in  it;  and  nothing  short  of  downright  violence 
will  rouse  his  nerves  now  to  the  needed  excitement.  At  first  he 
made  out  very  well  with  remarkable  men;  then,  lessening  the  water 
and  increasing  the  spirit,  he  took  to  Heroes:  and  now  he  must  have 
downright  inhumanity,  or  the  draught  has  no  savor; — so  he  gets 
on  at  last  to  Kings,  types  of  remorseless  Force,  who  maintain  the 
political  views  of  Berserkers  by  the  legal  principles  of  Lynch.  Con- 
stitutional monarchy  is  a  failure,  representative  government  is  a 
gabble,  democracy  a  birth  of  the  bottomless  pit;-  there  is  no  hope 


576  AMERICAN  PROSE 


for  mankind  except  in  getting  themselves  under  a  good  driver  who 
shall  not  spare  the  lash.  And  yet,  unhappily  for  us,  these  drivers 
are  providential  births  not  to  be  contrived  by  any  cunning  of  ours, 
and  Friedrich  II.  is  hitherto  the  last  of  them.  Meanwhile  the  world's 
wheels  have  got  fairly  stalled  in  mire  and  other  matter  of  every 
vilest  consistency  and  most  disgustful  smell.  What  are  we  to  do? 
Mr.  Carlyle  will  not  let  us  make  a  lever  with  a  rail  from  the  next  fence, 
or  call  in  the  neighbors.  That  would  be  too  commonplace  and 
cowardly,  too  anarchical.  No;  he  would  have  us  sit  down  beside 
him  in  the  slough  and  shout  lustily  for  Hercules.  If  that  indis- 
pensable demigod  will  not  or  cannot  come,  we  can  find  a  useful  and 
instructive  solace,  during  the  intervals  of  shouting,  in  a  hearty 
abuse  of  human  nature,  which,  at  the  long  last,  is  always  to  blame. 

Since  "Sartor  Resartus"  Mr.  Carlyle  has  done  little  but  repeat 
himself  with  increasing  emphasis  and  heightened  shrillness.  Warn- 
ing has  steadily  heated  toward  denunciation,  and  remonstrance 
soured  toward  scolding.  The  image  of  the  Tartar  prayer-mill, 
which  he  borrowed  from  Richter  and  turned  to  such  humorous  pur- 
pose, might  be  applied  to  himself.  The  same  phrase  comes  round 
and  round,  only  the  machine,  being  a  little  crankier,  rattles  more, 
and  the  performer  is  called  on  for  a  more  visible  exertion.  If  there  be 
not  something  very  like  cant  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  later  writings,  then 
cant  is  not  the  repetition  of  a  creed  after  it  has  become  a  phrase 
by  the  cooling  of  that  white-hot  conviction  which  once  made  it  both 
the  light  and  warmth  of  the  soul.  We  do  not  mean  intentional 
and  deliberate  cant,  but  neither  is  that  which  Mr.  Carlyle  denounces 
so  energetically  in  his  fellow-men  of  that  conscious  kind.  We  do 
not  mean  to  blame  him  for  it,  but  mention  it  rather  as  an  interesting 
phenomenon  of  human  nature.  The  stock  of  ideas  which  mankind 
has  to  work  with  is  very  limited,  like  the  alphabet,  and  can  at  best 
have  an  air  of  freshness  given  it  by  new  arrangements  and  combina- 
tions, or  by  application  to  new  times  and  circumstances.  Montaigne 
is  but  Ecclesiastes  writing  in  the  sixteenth  century,  Voltaire  but 
Lucian  in  the  eighteenth.  Yet  both  are  original,  and  so  certainly  is 
Mr.  Carlyle,  whose  borrowing  is  mainly  from  his  own  former  works. 
But  he  does  this  so  often  and  so  openly,  that  we  may  at  least  be  sure 
that  he  ceased  growing  a  number  of  years  ago,  and  is  a  remarkable 
example  of  arrested  development. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  577 

The  cynicism,  however,  which  has  now  become  the  prevailing 
temper  of  his  mind,  has  gone  on  expanding  with  unhappy  vigor. 
In  Mr.  Carlyle  it  is  not,  probably,  as  in  Swift,  the  result  of  personal 
disappointment,  and  of  the  fatal  eye  of  an  accomplice  for  the  mean 
qualities  by  which  power  could  be  attained  that  it  might  be  used  for 
purposes  as  mean.  It  seems  rather  the  natural  corruption  of  his 
exuberant  humor.  Humor  in  its  first  analysis  is  a  perception  of  the 
incongruous,  and  in  its  highest  development,  of  the  incongruity 
between  the  actual  and  the  ideal  in  men  and  life.  With  so  keen  a 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  contrast  between  what  men  might  be,  nay, 
wish  to  be,  and  what  they  are,  and  with  a  vehement  nature  that 
demands  the  instant  realization  of  his  vision  of  a  world  altogether 
heroic,  it  is  no  wonder  that  Mr.  Carlyle,  always  hoping  for  a  thing 
and  always  disappointed,  should  become  bitter.  Perhaps  if  he 
expected  less  he  would  find  more.  Saul  seeking  his  father's  asses 
found  himself  turned  suddenly  into  a  king;  but  Mr.  Carlyle,  on 
the  lookout  for  a  king,  always  seems  to  find  the  other  sort  of  animal. 
He  sees  nothing  on  any  side  of  him  but  a  procession  of  the  Lord  of 
Misrule,  in  gloomier  moments,  a  Dance  of  Death,  where  everything 
is  either  a  parody  of  whatever  is  noble,  or  an  aimless  jig  that  stumbles 
at  last  into  the  annihilation  of  the  grave,  and  so  passes  from  one 
nothing  to  another.  Is  a  world,  then,  which  buys  and  reads  Mr.  Car- 
lyle's  works  distinguished  only  for  its  "fair,  large  ears"  ?  If  he  who 
has  read  and  remembered  so  much  would  only  now  and  then  call  to 
mind  the  old  proverb,  Nee  deus,  nee  lupus,  sed  homo!  If  he  would 
only  recollect  that,  from  the  days  of  the  first  grandfather,  everybody 
has  remembered  a  golden  age  behind  him! 

The  very  qualities,  it  seems  to  us,  which  came  so  near  making 
a  great  poet  of  Mr.  Carlyle,  disqualify  him  for  the  office  of  historian. 
The  poet's  concern  is  with  the  appearances  of  things,  with  their 
harmony  in  that  whole  which  the  imagination  demands  for  its  satis- 
faction, and  their  truth  to  that  ideal  nature  which  is  the  proper 
object  of  poetry.  History,  unfortunately,  is  very  far  from  being 
ideal,  still  farther  from  an  exclusive  interest  in  those  heroic  or  typical 
figures  which  answer  all  the  wants  of  the  epic  and  the  drama  and  fill 
their  utmost  artistic  limits.  Mr.  Carlyle  has  an  unequalled  power  and 
vividness  in  painting  detached  scenes,  in  bringing  out  in  their  full 
relief  the  oddities  or  peculiarities  of  character;  but  he  has  a  far 


578  AMERICAN  PROSE 


feebler  sense  of  those  gradual  changes  of  opinion,  that  strange  com- 
munication of  sympathy  from  mind  to  mind,  that  subtile  influence  of 
very  subordinate  actors  in  giving  a  direction  to  policy  or  action,  which 
we  are  wont  somewhat  vaguely  to  call  the  progress  of  events.  His 
scheme  of  history  is  purely  an  epical  one,  where  only  leading  figures 
appear  by  name  and  are  in  any  strict  sense  operative.  He  has  no 
conception  of  the  people  as  anything  else  than  an  element  of  mere 
brute  force  in  political  problems,  and  would  sniff  scornfully  at  that 
unpicturesque  common-sense  of  the  many,  which  comes  slowly  to 
its  conclusions,  no  doubt,  but  compels  obedience  even  from  rulers 
the  most  despotic  when  once  its  mind  is  made  up.  His  history  of 
Frederick  is,  of  course,  a  Fritziad;  but  next  to  his  hero,  the  cane  of 
the  drill-sergeant  and  iron  ramrods  appear  to  be  the  conditions  which 
to  his  mind  satisfactorily  account  for  the  result  of  the  Seven  Years 
War.  It  is  our  opinion,  which  subsequent  events  seem  to  justify, 
that,  had  there  not  been  in  the  Prussian  people  a  strong  instinct  of 
nationality,  Protestant  nationality  too,  and  an  intimate  conviction 
of  its  advantages,  the  war  might  have  ended  quite  otherwise.  Freder- 
ick II.  left  the  machine  of  war  which  he  received  from  his  father  even 
more  perfect  than  he  found  it,  yet  within  a  few  years  of  his  death 
it  went  to  pieces  before  the  shock  of  French  armies  animated  by  an 
idea.  Again  a  few  years,  and  the  Prussian  soldiery,  inspired  once 
more  by  the  old  national  fervor,  were  victorious.  Were  it  not  for  the 
purely  picturesque  bias  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  genius,  for  the  necessity 
which  his  epical  treatment  lays  upon  him  of  always  having  a  pro- 
tagonist, we  should  be  astonished  that  an  idealist  like  him  should 
have  so  little  faith  in  ideas  and  so  much  in  matter. 

Mr.  Carlyle's  style  is  not  so  well  suited  to  the  historian  as  to  the 
essayist.  He  is  always  great  in  single  figures  and  detached  scenes, 
but  there  is  neither  gradation  nor  continuity.  He  has  extraordinary 
patience  and  conscientiousness  in  the  gathering  and  sifting  of  his 
material,  but  is  scornful  of  commonplace  facts  and  characters, 
impatient  of  whatever  will  not  serve  for  one  of  his  clever  sketches, 
or  group  well  in  a  more  elaborate  figure-piece.  He  sees  history,  as  it 
were,  by  flashes  of  lightning,  A  single  scene,  whether  a  landscape  or 
an  interior,  a  single  figure  or  a  wild  mob  of  men,  whatever  may  be 
snatched  by  the  eye  in  that  instant  of  intense  illumination,  is  minutely 
photographed  upon  the  memory.  Every  tree  and  stone,  almost 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  579 

every  blade  of  grass;  every  article  of  furniture  in  a  room;  the  atti- 
tude or  expression,  nay,  the  very  buttons  and  shoe-ties  of  a  principal 
figure;  the  gestures  of  momentary  passion  in  a  wild  throng, — every- 
thing leaps  into  vision  under  that  sudden  glare  with  a  painful 
distinctness  that  leaves  the  retina  quivering.  The  intervals  are  abso- 
lute darkness.  Mr.  Carlyle  makes  us  acquainted  with  the  isolated 
spot  where  we  happen  to  be  when  the  flash  comes,  as  if  by  actual 
eyesight,  but  there  is  no  possibility  of  a  comprehensive  view.  No 
other  writer  compares  with  him  for  vividness.  He  is  himself  a  wit- 
ness, and  makes  us  witnesses  of  whatever  he  describes.  This  is  genius 
beyond  a  question,  and  of  a  very  rare  quality,  but  it  is  not  history. 
He  has  not  the  cold-blooded  impartiality  of  the  historian;  and  while 
he  entertains  us,  moves  us  to  tears  or  laughter,  makes  us  the  uncon- 
scious captives  of  his  ever-changeful  mood,  we  find  that  he  has 
taught  us  comparatively  little.  His  imagination  is  so  powerful  that 
it  makes  him  the  contemporary  of  his  characters,  and  thus  his 
history  seems  to  be  the  memoirs  of  a  cynical  humorist,  with  hearty 
likes  and  dislikes,  with  something  of  acridity  in  his  partialities 
whether  for  or  against,  more  keenly  sensitive  to  the  grotesque  than 
the  simply  natural,  and  who  enters  in  his  diary,  even  of  what  comes 
within  the  range  of  his  own  observation,  only  so  much  as  amuses  his 
fancy,  is  congenial  with  his  humor,  or  feeds  his  prejudice.  Mr. 
Carlyle's  method  is  accordingly  altogether  descriptive,  his  hasty 
temper  making  narrative  wearisome  to  him.  In  his  Friedrich,  for 
example,  we  get  very  little  notion  of  the  civil  administration  of 
Prussia;  and  when  he  comes,  in  the  last  volume,  to  his  hero's  dealings 
with  civil  reforms,  he  confesses  candidly  that  it  would  tire  him  too  much 
to  tell  us  about  it,  even  if  he  knew  anything  at  all  satisfactory  himself. 
Mr.  Carlyle's  historical  compositions  are  wonderful  prose  poems, 
full  of  picture,  incident,  humor,  and  character,  where  we  grow  familiar 
with  his  conception  of  certain  leading  personages,  and  even  of  sub- 
ordinate ones,  if  they  are  necessary  to  the  scene,  so  that  they  come 
out  living  upon  the  stage  from  the  dreary  limbo  of  names;  but  this 
is  no  more  history  than  the  historical  plays  of  Shakespeare.  There  is 
nothing  in  imaginative  literature  superior  in  its  own  way  to  the 
episode  of  Voltaire  in  the  Fritziad.  It  is  delicious  in  humor,  masterly 
in  minute  characterization.  We  feel  as  if  the  principal  victim  (for 
we  cannot  help  feeling  all  the  while  that  he  is  so)  of  this  mischievous 


580  AMERICAN  PROSE 


genius  had  been  put  upon  the  theatre  before  us  by  some  perfect  mimic 
like  Foote,  who  had  studied  his  habitual  gait,  gestures,  tones,  turn  of 
thought,  costume,  trick  of  feature,  and  rendered  them  with  the  slight 
dash  of  caricature  needful  to  make  the  whole  composition  tell.  It  is  in 
such  things  that  Mr.  Carlyle  is  beyond  all  rivalry,  and  that  we  must 
go  back  to  Shakespeare  for  a  comparison.  But  the  mastery  of 
Shakespeare  is  shown  perhaps  more  strikingly  in  his  treatment  of  the 
ordinary  than  of  the  exceptional.  His  is  the  gracious  equality  of 
Nature  herself.  Mr.  Carlyle's  gift  is  rather  in  the  representation 
than  in  the  creation  of  character;  and  it  is  a  necessity  of  his  art, 
therefore,  to  exaggerate  slightly  his  heroic,  and  to  caricature  in  like 
manner  his  comic  parts.  His  appreciation  is  less  psychological  than 
physical  and  external.  Grimm  relates  that  Garrick,  riding  once 
with  Preville,  proposed  to  him  that  they  should  counterfeit  drunken- 
ness. They  rode  through  Passy  accordingly,  deceiving  all  who  saw 
them.  When  beyond  the  town  Preville  asked  how  he  had  succeeded. 
"Excellently,"  said  Garrick,  "as  to  your  body;  but  your  legs  were 
not  tipsy."  Mr.  Carlyle  would  be  as  exact  in  his  observation  of 
nature  as  the  great  actor,  and  would  make  us  see  a  drunken  man  as 
well;  but  we  doubt  whether  he  could  have  conceived  that  unmatch- 
able  scene  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  where  the  tipsiness  of  Lepidus 
pervades  the  whole  metaphysical  no  less  than  the  physical  part  of  the 
triumvir.  If  his  sympathies  bore  any  proportion  to  his  instinct 
for  catching  those  traits  which  are  the  expression  of  character, 
but  not  character  itself,  we  might  have  had  a  great  historian  in  him 
instead  of  a  history-painter. 

But  that  which  is  a  main  element  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  talent,  and 
does  perhaps  more  than  anything  else  to  make  it  effective,  is  a  defect 
of  his  nature.  The  cynicism  which  renders  him  so  entertaining 
precludes  him  from  any  just  conception  of  men  and  their  motives, 
and  from  any  sane  estimate  of  the  relative  importance  of  the  events 
which  concern  them.  We  remember  a  picture  of  Hamon's,  where 
before  a  Punch's  theatre  are  gathered  the  wisest  of  mankind  in  rapt 
attention.  Socrates  sits"  on  a  front  bench,  absorbed  in  the  spectacle, 
and  in  the  corner  stands  Dante  entering  his  remarks  in  a  note-book. 
Mr.  Carlyle  as  an  historian  leaves  us  in  somewhat  such  a  mood.  The 
world  is  a  puppet-show,  and  when  we  have  watched  the  play  out,  we 
depart  with  a  half-comic  consciousness  of  the  futility  of  all  human 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  581 

enterprise,  and  the  ludicrousness  of  all  man's  action  and  passion  on  the 
stage  of  the  world.  Simple,  kindly,  blundering  Oliver  Goldsmith  was 
after  all  wiser,  and  his  Vicar,  ideal  as  Hector  and  not  less  immortal,  is 
a  demonstration  of  the  perennial  beauty  and  heroism  of  the  homeliest 
human  nature.  The  cynical  view  is  congenial  to  certain  moods,  and 
is  so  little  inconsistent  with  original  nobleness  of  mind,  that  it  is  not 
seldom  the  acetous  fermentation  of  it;  but  it  is  the  view  of  the 
satirist,  not  of  the  historian,  and  takes  in  but  a  narrow  arc  in  the  cir- 
cumference of  truth.  Cynicism  in  itself  is  essentially  disagreeable. 
It  is  the  intellectual  analogue  of  the  truffle;  and  though  it  may  be 
very  well  in  giving  a  relish  to  thought  for  certain  palates,  it  cannot 
supply  the  substance  of  it.  Mr.  Carlyle's  cynicism  is  not  that  polished 
weariness  of  the  outsides  of  life  which  we  find  in  Ecclesiastes.  It  goes 
much  deeper  than  that  to  the  satisfactions,  not  of  the  body  or  the 
intellect,  but  of  the  very  soul  itself.  It  vaunts  itself;  it  is  noisy  and 
aggressive.  What  the  wise  master  puts  into  the  mouth  of  desperate 
ambition,  thwarted  of  the  fruit  of  its  crime,  as  the  fitting  expression 
of  passionate  sophistry,  seems  to  have  become  an  article  of  bis  creed. 
With  him 

"Life  is  a  tale 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 

Signifying  nothing." 

He  goes  about  with  his  Diogenes  dark-lantern,  professing  to  seek  a 
man,  but  inwardly  resolved  to  find  a  monkey.  He  loves  to  flash  it 
suddenly  on  poor  human  nature  in  some  ridiculous  or  degrading 
posture.  He  admires  still,  or  keeps  affirming  that  he  admires,  the 
doughty,  silent,  hard-working  men  who  go  honestly  about  their 
business ;  but  when  we  come  to  examples,  we  find  that  it  is  not  loyalty 
to  duty  or  to  an  inward  ideal  of  high-mindedness  that  he  finds  admir- 
able in  them,  but  a  blind  unquestioning  vassalage  to  whomsoever 
it  has  pleased  him  to  set  up  for  a  hero.  He  would  fain  replace  the 
old  feudalism  with  a  spiritual  counterpart,  in  which  there  shall  be  an 
obligation  to  soul-service.  He  who  once  popularized  the  word  flunkey 
by  ringing  the  vehement  changes  of  his  scorn  upon  it,  is  at  last  forced 
to  conceive  an  ideal  flunkeyism  to  squire  the  hectoring  Don  Belianises 
of  his  fancy  about  the  world.  Failing  this,  his  latest  theory  of  Divine 
government  seems  to  be  the  cudgel.  Poets  have  sung  all  manner  of 
vegetable  loves;  Petrarch  has  celebrated  the  laurel,  Chaucer  the 


582  AMERICAN  PROSE 

daisy,  and  Wordsworth  the  gallows-tree;  it  remained  for  the  ex- 
pedagogue  of  Ecclefechan  to  become  the  volunteer  laureate  of  the 
rod  and  to  imagine  a  world  created  and  directed  by  a  divine  Dr. 
Busby.  We  cannot  help  thinking  that  Mr.  Carlyle  might  have 
learned  something  to  his  advantage  by  living  a  few  years  in  the 
democracy  which  he  scoffs  at  as  heartily  a  priori  as  if  it  were  the 
demagogism  which  Aristophanes  derided  from  experience.  The  Hero, 
as  Mr.  Carlyle  understands  him,  was  a  makeshift  of  the  past;  and 
the  ideal  of  manhood  is  to  be  found  hereafter  in  free  communities, 
where  the  state  shall  at  length  sum  up  and  exemplify  in  itself  all 
those  qualities  which  poets  were  forced  to  imagine  and  typify  because 
they  could  not  find  them  in  the  actual  world. 

In  the  earlier  part  of  his  literary  career,  Mr.  Carlyle  was  the 
denouncer  of  shams,  the  preacher  up  of  sincerity,  manliness,  and  of 
a  living  faith,  instead  of  a  droning  ritual.  He  had  intense  convic- 
tions, and  he  made  disciples.  With  a  compass  of  diction  unequalled 
by  any  other  public  performer  of  the  time,  ranging  as  it  did  from  the 
unbooked  freshness  of  the  Scottish  peasant  to  the  most  far-sought 
phrase  of  literary  curiosity,  with  humor,  pathos,  and  eloquence  at 
will,  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  found  eager  listeners  in  a  world  longing 
for  a  sensation,  and  forced  to  put  up  with  the  West-End  gospel  of 
"  Pelham."  If  not  a  profound  thinker,  he  had  what  was  next  best, — 
he  felt  profoundly,  and  his  cry  came  out  of  the  depths.  The  stern 
Calvinism  of  his  early  training  was  rekindled  by  his  imagination  to 
the  old  fervor  of  Wishart  and  Brown,  and  became  a  new  phenomenon 
as  he  reproduced  it  subtilized  by  German  transcendentalism  and 
German  culture.  Imagination,  if  it  lays  hold  of  A  Scotchman, 
possesses  him  in  the  old  demoniac  sense  of  the  word,  and  that  hard 
logical  nature,  if  the  Hebrew  fire  once  gets  fair  headway  in  it,  burns 
unquenchable  as  an  anthracite  coal-mine.  But  to  utilize  these 
sacred  heats,  to  employ  them,  as  a  literary  man  is  always  tempted, 
to  keep  the  domestic  pot  a-boiling, — is  such  a  thing  possible  ?  Only 
too  possible,  we  fear;  and  Mr.  Carlyle  is  an  example  of  it.  If  the 
languid  public  long  for  a  sensation,  the  excitement  of  making  one 
becomes  also  a  necessity  of  the  successful  author,  as  the  intellectual 
nerves  grow  duller  and  the  old  inspiration  that  came  unbidden  to  the 
bare  garret  grows  shier  and  shier  of  the  comfortable  parlor.  As  he 
himself  said  thirty  years  ago  of  Edward  Irving,  "  Unconsciously,  for 


JAMES  RUSSZLL  LOWELL  583 

the  most  part  in  deep  unconsciousness,  there  was  now  the  impossi- 
bility to  live  neglected, — to  walk  on  the  quiet  paths  where  alone  it  is 
well  with  us*  Singularity  must  henceforth  succeed  singularity.  O 
foulest  Circean  draught,  thou  poison  of  Popular  Applause !  madness  is 
in  thee  and  death;  thy  end  is  Bedlam  and  the  grave."  Mr.  Carlyle 
won  his  first  successes  as  a  kind  of  preacher  in  print.  His  fervor,  his 
oddity  of  manner,  his  pugnacious  paradox,  drew  the  crowd;  the  truth, 
or,  at  any  rate,  the  faith  that  underlay  them  all,  brought  also  the 
fitter  audience,  though  fewer.  But  the  curse  was  upon  him;  he 
must  attract,  he  must  astonish.  Thenceforth  he  has  done  nothing 
but  revamp  his  telling  things;  but  the  oddity  has  become  always 
odder,  the  paradoxes  more  paradoxical.  No  very  large  share  of 
truth  falls  to  the  apprehension  of  any  one  man;  let  him  keep  it  sacred, 
and  beware  of  repeating  it  till  it  turn  to  falsehood  on  his  lips  by 
becoming  ritual.  Truth  always  has  a  bewitching  savor  of  newness 
in  it,  and  novelty  at  the  first  taste  recalls  that  original  sweetness  to 
the  tongue;  but  alas  for  him  who  would  make  the  one  a  substitute 
for  the  other!  We  seem  to  miss  of  late  in  Mr.  Carlyle  the  old  sin- 
cerity. He  has  become  -the  purely  literary  man,  less  concerned  about 
what  he  says  than  about  how  he  shall  say  it  to  best  advantage.  The 
Muse  should  be  the  companion,  not  the  guide,  says  he  whom  Mr. 
Carlyle  has  pronounced  "the  wisest  of  this  generation."  What 
would  be  a  virtue  in  the  poet  is  a  vice  of  the  most  fatal  kind  in  the 
teacher,  and,  alas  that  we  should  say  it!  the  very  Draco  of  shams, 
whose  code  contained  no  penalty  milder  than  capital  for  the  most 
harmless  of  them,  has  become  at  last  something  very  like  a  sham 
himself.  Mr.  Carlyle  continues  to  be  a  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness, 
but  no  longer  a  voice  with  any  earnest  conviction  behind  it.  Hear- 
ing him  rebuke  us  for  being  humbugs  and  impostors,  we  are  inclined 
to  answer,  with  the  ambassador  of  Philip  II.,  when  his  master 
reproached  him  with  forgetting  substance  in  ceremony,  "Your 
Majesty  forgets  that  you  are  only  a  ceremony  yourself."  And  Mr. 
Carlyle's  teaching,  moreover, — if  teaching  we  may  call  it, — belongs 
to  what  the  great  German,  whose  disciple  he  is,  condemned  as 
the  "literature  of  despair."  An  apostle  to  the  gentiles  might  hope 
for  some  fruit  of  his  preaching;  but  of  what  avail  an  apostle  who 
shouts  his  message  down  the  mouth  of  the  pit  to  poor  lost  souls, 
whom  he  can  positively  assure  only  that  it  is  impossible  to  get  out  ? 


584  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Mr.  Carlyle  lights  up  the  lanterns  of  his  Pharos  after  the  ship  is 
already  rolling  between  the  tongue  of  the  sea  and  the  grinders  of  the 
reef.  It  is  very  brilliant,  and  its  revolving  flashes  touch  the  crests  of 
the  breakers  with  an  awful  picturesqueness;  but  in  so  desperate  a 
state  of  things,  even  Dr.  Syntax  might  be  pardoned  for  being 
forgetful  of  the  picturesque.  The  Toryism  of  Scott  sprang  from 
love  of  the  past;  that  of  Carlyle  is  far  more  dangerously  in- 
fectious, for  it  is  logically  deduced  from  a  deep  disdain  of  human 
nature. 

Browning  has  drawn  a  beautiful  picture  of  an  old  king  sitting  at 
the  gate  of  his  palace  to  judge  his  people  in  the  calm  sunshine  of 
that  past  which  never  existed  outside  a  poet's  brain.  It  is  the  sweet- 
est of  waking  dreams,  this  of  absolute  power  and  perfect  wisdom  in 
one  supreme  ruler;  but  it  is  as  pure  a  creation  of  human  want  and 
weakness,  as  clear  a  witness  of  mortal  limitation  and  incompleteness, 
as  the  shoes  of  swiftness,  the  cloak  of  darkness,  the  purse  of  Fortuna- 
tus,  and  the  elixir  vitae.  It  is  the  natural  refuge  of  imaginative 
temperaments  impatient  of  our  blunders  and  shortcomings,  and,  given 
a  complete  man,  all  would  submit  to  the  divine  right  of  his  despotism. 
But  alas!  to  every  the  most  fortunate  human  birth  hobbles  up  that 
malign  fairy  who  has  been  forgotten,  with  her  fatal  gift  of  imper- 
fection! So  far  as  our  experience  has  gone,  it  has  been  the  very 
opposite  of  Mr.  Carlyle's.  Instead  of  finding  men  disloyal  to  their 
natural  leader,  nothing  has  ever  seemed  to  us  so  touching  as  the 
gladness  with  which  they  follow  him,  when  they  are  sure  they  have 
found  him  at  last.  But  a  natural  leader  of  the  ideal  type  is  not  to 
be  looked  for  nisi  dignus  vindice  nodus.  The  Divine  Forethought 
had  been  cruel  in  furnishing  one  for  every  petty  occasion,  and  thus 
thwarting  in  all  inferior  men  that  priceless  gift  of  reason,  to  develop 
which,  and  to  make  it  one  with  free-will,  is  the  highest  use  of  our 
experience  on  earth.  Mr.  Carlyle  was  hard  bestead  and  very  far 
gone  in  his  idolatry  of  mere  pluck,  when  he  was  driven  to  choose 
Friedrich  as  a  hero.  A  poet — and  Mr.  Carlyle  is  nothing  else — is 
unwise  who  yokes  Pegasus  to  a  prosaic  theme  which  no  force  of  wing 
can  lift  from  the  dull  earth.  Charlemagne  would  have  been  a  wiser 
choice,  far  enough  in  the  past  for  ideal  treatment,  more  manifestly 
the  Siegfried  of  Anarchy,  and  in  his  rude  way  the  refounder  of  that 
empire  which  is  the  ideal  of  despotism  in  the  Western  world. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  585 

Friedrich  was  doubtless  a  remarkable  man,  but  surely  very  far 
below  any  lofty  standard  of  heroic  greatness.  He  was  the  last  of 
the  European  kings  who  could  look  upon  his  kingdom  as  his  private 
patrimony;  and  it  was  this  estate  of  his,  this  piece  of  property,  which 
he  so  obstinately  and  successfully  defended.  He  had  no  idea  of 
country  as  it  was  understood  by  an  ancient  Greek  or  Roman,  as  it  is 
understood  by  a  modern  Englishman  or  American;  and  there  is  some- 
thing almost  pitiful  in  seeing  a  man  of  genius  like  Mr.  Carlyle  fighting 
painfully  over  again  those  battles  of  the  last  century  which  settled 
nothing  but  the  continuance  of  the  Prussian  monarchy,  while  he  saw 
only  the  "burning  of  a  dirty  chimney"  in  the  war  which  a  great  people 
was  waging  under  his  very  eyes  for  the  idea  of  nationality  and  orderly 
magistrature,  and  which  fixed,  let  us  hope,  forever,  a  boundary- 
line  on  the  map  of  history  and  man's  advancement  toward  self- 
conscious  and  responsible  freedom.  The  true  historical  genius,  to 
our  thinking,  is  that  which  can  see  the  nobler  meaning  of  events  that 
are  near  him,  as  the  true  poet  is  he  who  detects  the  divine  in  the 
casual;  and  we  somewhat  suspect  the  depth  of  his  insight  into  the 
past,  who  cannot  recognize  the  godlike  of  to-day  under  that  disguise 
in  which  it  always  visits  us.  Shall  we  hint  to  Mr.  Carlyle  that  a 
man  may  look  on  an  heroic  age,  as  well  as  an  heroic  master,  with 
the  eyes  of  a  valet,  as  misappreciative  certainly,  though  not  so 
ignoble  ? 

What  Goethe  says  of  a  great  poet,  that  he  must  be  a  citizen  of 
his  age  as  well  as  of  his  country,  may  be  said  inversely  of  a  great 
king.  He  should  be  a  citizen  of  his  country  as  well  as  of  his  age. 
Friedrich  was  certainly  the  latter  in  its  fullest  sense;  whether  he  was, 
or  could  have  been,  the  former,  in  any  sense,  may  be  doubted.  The 
man  who  spoke  and  wrote  French  in  preference  to  his  mother-tongue, 
who,  dying  when  Goethe  was  already  drawing  toward  his  fortieth 
year,  Schiller  toward  his  thirtieth,  and  Lessing  had  been  already  five 
years  in  his  grave,  could  yet  see  nothing  but  barbarism  in  German 
literature,  had  little  of  the  old  Teutonic  fibre  in  his  nature.  The  man 
who  pronounced  the  Nibelungen  Lied  not  worth  a  pinch  of  priming, 
had  little  conception  of  the  power  of  heroic  traditions  in  making  heroic 
men,  and  especially  in  strengthening  that  instinct  made  up  of  so  many 
indistinguishable  associations  which  we  call  love  of  country.  Charle- 
magne, when  he  caused  the  old  songs  of  his  people  to  be  gathered  and 


586  AMERICAN  PROSE 


written  down,  showed  a  truer  sense  of  the  sources  of  national  feeling 
and  a  deeper  political  insight.  This  want  of  sympathy  points  to  the 
somewhat  narrow  limits  of  Friedrich's  nature.  In  spite  of  Mr. 
Carlyle's  adroit  statement  of  the  case,  and  the  whole  book  has  an 
air  of  being  the  plea  of  a  masterly  advocate  in  mitigation  of  sentence, 
we  feel  that  his  hero  was  essentially  hard,  narrow,  and  selfish.  His 
popularity  will  go  for  little  with  any  one  who  has  studied  the  trifling 
and  often  fabulous  elements  that  make  up  that  singular  compound. 
A  bluntness  of  speech,  a  shabby  uniform,  a  frugal  camp  equipage,  a 
timely  familiarity,  may  make  a  man  the  favorite  of  an  army  or  a 
nation, — above  all,  if  he  have  the  knack  of  success.  Moreover, 
popularity  is  much  more  easily  won  from  above  downward,  and 
is  bought  at  a  better  bargain  by  kings  and  generals  than  by  other  men. 
We  doubt  if  Friedrich  would  have  been  liked  as' a  private  person,  or 
even  as  an  unsuccessful  king.  He  apparently  attached  very  few 
people  to  himself,  fewer  even  than  his  brutal  old  Squire  Western  of 
a  father.  His  sister  Wilhelmina  is  perhaps  an  exception.  We  say 
perhaps,  for  we  do  not  know  how  much  the  heroic  part  he  was  called 
on  to  play  had  to  do  with  the  matter,  and  whether  sisterly  pride  did 
not  pass  even  with  herself  for  sisterly  affection.  Moreover  she  was 
far  from  him;  and  Mr.  Carlyle  waves  aside,  in  his  generous  fashion, 
some  rather  keen  comments  of  hers  on  her  brother's  character  when 
she  visited  Berlin  after  he  had  become  king.  Indeed,  he  is  apt  to  deal 
rather  contemptuously  with  all  adverse  criticism  of  his  hero.  We 
sympathize  with  his  impulse  in  this  respect,  agreeing  heartily  as  we 
do  in  Chaucer's  scorn  of  those  who  "gladlie  demen  to  the  baser  end" 
in  such  matters.  But  we  are  not  quite  sure  if  this  be  a  safe  method 
with  the  historian.  He  must  doubtless  be  the  friend  of  his  hero  if  he 
would  understand  him,  but  he  must  be  more  the  friend  of  truth  if  he 
would  understand  history.  Mr.  Carlyle's  passion  for  truth  is  intense, 
as  befits  his  temper,  but  it  is  that  of  a  lover  for  his  mistress.  He  would 
have  her  all  to  himself,  and  has  a  lover's  conviction  that  no  one  is 
able,  or  even  fit,  to  appreciate  her  but  himself.  He  does  well  to 
despise  the  tittle-tattle  of  vulgar  minds,  but  surely  should  not  ignore 
all  testimony  on  the  other  side.  For  ourselves,  we  think  it  not  unim- 
portant that  Goethe's  friend  Knebel,  a  man  not  incapable  of  admira- 
tion, and  who  had  served  a  dozen  years  or  so  as  an  officer  of  Friedrich's 
guard,  should  have  bluntly  called  him  "the  tyrant." 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  587 

Mr.  Carlyle's  history  traces  the  family  of  his  hero  down  from  its 
beginnings  in  the  picturesque  chiaro-scuro  of  the  Middle  Ages.  It 
was  an  able  and  above  all  a  canny  house,  a  Scotch  version  of  the  word 
able,  which  implies  thrift  and  an  eye  to  the  main  chance,  the  said 
main  chance  or  chief  end  of  man  being  altogether  of  this  world. 
Friedrich,  inheriting  this  family  faculty  in  full  measure,  was  driven, 
partly  by  ambition,  partly  by  necessity,  to  apply  it  to  war.  He  did 
so,  with  the  success  to  be  expected  where  a  man  of  many  expedients 
has  the  good  luck  to  be  opposed  by  men  with  few.  He  adds  another 
to  the  many  proofs  that  it  is  possible  to  be  a  great  general  without  a 
spark  of  that  divine  fire  which  we  call  genius,  and  that  good  fortune 
in  war  results  from  the  same  prompt  talent  and  unbending  temper 
which  lead  to  the  same  result  in  the  peaceful  professions.  Friedrich 
had  certainly  more  of  the  temperament  of  genius  than  Marlborough 
or  Wellington;  but  not  to  go  beyond  modern  instances,  he  does  not 
impress  us  with  the  massive  breadth  of  Napoleon,  nor  attract  us  with 
the  climbing  ardor  of  Turenne.  To  compare  him  with  Alexander 
or  Caesar  were  absurd.  The  kingship  that  was  in  him,  and  which 
won  Mr.  Carlyle  to  be  his  biographer,  is  that  of  will  merely,  of  rapid 
and  relentless  command.  For  organization  he  had  a  masterly  talent; 
but  he  could  not  apply  it  to  the  arts  of  peace,  both  because  he  wanted 
experience  and  because  the  rash  decision  of  the  battle-field  will  not 
serve  in  matters  which  are  governed  by  natural  laws  of  growth.  He 
seems,  indeed,  to  have  had  a  coarse,  soldier's  contempt  for  all  civil 
distinction,  altogether  unworthy  of  a  wise  king,  or  even  of  a  prudent 
one.  He  confers  the  title  of  Hofrath  on  the  husband  of  a  woman  with 
whom  his  General  Walrave  is  living  in  what  Mr.  Carlyle  justly  calls 
"brutish  polygamy,"  and  this  at  Walrave's  request,  on  the  ground 
that  "a  general's  drab  ought  to  have  a  handle  to  her  name."  Mr. 
Carlyle  murmurs  in  a  mild  parenthesis  that  "we  rather  regret  this"! 
(Vol.  III.  p.  559.)  This  is  his  usual  way  of  treating  unpleasant 
matters,  sidling  by  with  a  deprecating  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 
Not  that  he  ever  wilfully  suppresses  anything.  On  the  contrary, 
there  is  no  greater  proof  of  his  genius  than  the  way  in  which,  while 
he  seems  to  paint  a  character  with  all  its  disagreeable  traits, 
he  contrives  to  win  our  sympathy  for  it,  nay,  almost  our  liking. 
This  is  conspicuously  true  of  his  portrait  of  Friedrich's  father;  and 
that  he  does  not  succeed  in  making  Friedrich  himself  attractive  is  a 


588  AMERICAN  PROSE 


strong  argument  with  us  that  the  fault  is  in  the  subject  and  not  the 
artist. 

The  book,  we  believe,  has  been  comparatively  unsuccessful  as  a 
literary  venture.  Nor  do  we  wonder  at  it.  It  is  disproportionately 
long,  and  too  much  made  up  of  those  descriptions  of  battles  to  read 
which  seems  even  more  difficult  than  to  have  won  the  victory  itself, 
more  disheartening  than  to  have  suffered  the  defeat.  To  an  Ameri- 
can, also,  the  warfare  seemed  Liliputian  in  the  presence  of  a  conflict 
so  much  larger  in  its  proportions  and  significant  in  its  results.  The 
interest,  moreover,  flags  decidedly  toward  the  close,  where  the  reader 
cannot  help  feeling  that  the  author  loses  breath  somewhat  painfully 
under  the  effort  of  so  prolonged  a  course.  Mr.  Carlyle  has  evidently 
devoted  to  his  task  a  labor  that  may  be  justly  called  prodigious.  Not 
only  has  he  sifted  all  the  German  histories  and  memoirs,  but  has 
visited  every  battle-field,  and  describes  them  with  an  eye  for  country 
that  is  without  rival  among  historians.  The  book  is  evidently  an 
abridgment  of  even  more  abundant  collections,  and  yet  as  it  stands 
the  matter  overburdens  the  work.  It  is  a  bundle  of  lively  episodes 
rather  than  a  continuous  narrative.  In  this  respect  it  contrasts  oddly 
with  the  concinnity  of  his  own  earlier  Life  of  Schiller.  But  the  epi- 
sodes are  lively,  the  humor  and  pathos  spring  from  a  profound 
nature,  the  sketches  of  character  are  masterly,  the  seizure  of  every 
picturesque  incident  infallible,  and  the  literary  judgments  those  of 
a  thorough  scholar  and  critic.  There  is,  of  course,  the  usual  amusing 
objurgation  of  Dryasdust  and  his  rubbish-heaps,  the  usual  assump- 
tion of  omniscience,  and  the  usual  certainty  of  the  lively  French  lady 
of  being  always  in  the  right;  yet  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  a  little 
of  Dryasdust's  plodding  exactness  would  have  saved  Fouquet 
eleven  years  of  the  imprisonment  to  which  Mr.  Carlyle  condemns 
him,  would  have  referred  us  to  St.  Simon  rather  than  to  Voltaire  for 
the  character  of  the  brothers  Belle-He,  and  would  have  kept  clear  of 
a  certain  ludicrous  etymology  of  the  name  Antwerp,  not  to  mention 
some  other  trifling  slips  of  the  like  nature.  In  conclusion,  after 
saying,  as  honest  critics  must,  that  "The  History  of  Friedrich  II. 
called  Frederick  the  Great"  is  a  book  to  be  read  in  with  more  satis- 
faction than  to  be  read  through,  after  declaring  that  it  is  open  to  all 
manner  of  criticism,  especially  in  point  of  moral  purpose  and  tend- 
ency, we  must  admit  with  thankfulness,  that  it  has  the  one  prime  merit 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  589 


of  being  the  work  of  a  man  who  has  every  quality  of  a  great  poet 
except  that  supreme  one  of  rhythm,  which  shapes  both  matter  and 
manner  to  harmonious  proportion,  and  that  where  it  is  good,  it  is 
good  as  only  genius  knows  how  to  be. 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN 
SPEECH  ON  THE  SLAVERY  QUESTION 

I  have,  Senators,  believed  from  the  first  that  the  agitation  of 
the  subject  of  slavery  would,  if  not  prevented  by  some  timely  and 
effective  measure,  end  in  disunion.  Entertaining  this  opinion,  I 
have,  on  all  proper  occasions,  endeavored  to  call  the  attention  of  both 
the  two  great  parties  which  divide  the  country  to  adopt  some  measure 
to  prevent  so  great  a  disaster,  but  without  success.  The  agitation 
has  been  permitted  to  proceed,  with  almost  no  attempt  to  resist  it, 
until  it  has  reached  a  point  when  it  can  no  longer  be  disguised  or 
denied  that  the  Union  is  in  danger.  You  have  thus  had  forced  upon 
you  the  greatest  and  the  gravest  question  that  can  ever  come  under 
your  consideration — How  can  the  Union  be  preserved  ? 

To  give  a  satisfactory  answer  to  this  mighty  question,  it  is  in- 
dispensable to  have  an  accurate  and  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
nature  and  the  character  of  the  cause  by  which  the  Union  is  endan- 
gered. Without  such  knowledge  it  is  impossible  to  pronounce,  with 
any  certainty,  by  what  measure  it  can  be  saved ;  just  as  it  would  be 
impossible  for  a  physician  to  pronounce,  in  the  case  of  some  dangerous 
disease,  with  any  certainty,  by  what  remedy  the  patient  could  be 
saved,  without  similar  knowledge  of  the  nature  and  character  of  the 
cause  which  produced  it.  The  first  question,  then,  presented  for 
consideration,  in  the  investigation  I  propose  to  make,  in  order  to 
obtain  such  knowledge,  is — What  is  it  that  has  endangered  the  Union  ? 

To  this  question  there  can  be  but  one  answer, — that  the  immedi- 
ate cause  is  the  almost  universal  discontent  which  pervades  all  the 
States  composing  the  Southern  section  of  the  Union.  This  widely- 
extended  discontent  is  not  of  recent  origin.  It  commenced  with  the 
agitation  of  the  slavery  question,  and  has  been  increasing  ever  since. 
The  next  question,  going  one  step  further  back,  is — What  has  caused 
this  widely  diffused  and  almost  universal  discontent  ? 


5QO  AMERICAN  PROSE 


It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose,  as  is  by  some,  that  it  originated 
with  demagogues,  who  excited  the  discontent  with  the  intention  of 
aiding  their  personal  advancement,  or  with  the  disappointed  ambition 
of  certain  politicians,  who  resorted  to  it  as  the  means  of  retrieving 
their  fortunes.  On  the  contrary,  all  the  great  political  influences  of 
the  section  were  arrayed  against  excitement,  and  exerted  to  the 
utmost  to  keep  the  people  quiet.  The  great  mass  of  the  people  of 
the  South  were  divided,  as  in  the  other  section,  into  Whigs  and 
Democrats.  The  leaders  and  the  presses  of  both  parties  in  the  South 
were  very  solicitous  to  prevent  excitement  and  to  preserve  quiet; 
because  it  was  seen  that  the  effects  of  the  former  would  necessarily 
tend  to  weaken,  if  not  destroy,  the  political  ties  which  united  them 
with  their  respective  parties  in  the  other  section.  Those  who  know 
the  strength  of  party  ties  will  readily  appreciate  the  immense  force 
which  this  cause  exerted  against  agitation,  and  in  favor  of  preserving 
quiet.  But,  great  as  it  was,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  prevent  the  wide- 
spread discontent  which  now  pervades  the  section.  No;  some  cause, 
far  deeper  and  more  powerful  than  the  one  supposed,  must  exist,  to 
account  for  discontent  so  wide  and  deep.  The  question  then  recurs 
— What  is  the  cause  of  this  discontent  ?  It  will  be  found  in  the  belief 
of  the  people  of  the  Southern  States,  as  prevalent  as  the  discontent 
itself,  that  they  cannot  remain,  as  things  now  are,  consistently  with 
honor  and  safety,  in  the  Union.  The  next  question  to  be  considered, 
is — What  has  caused  this  belief  ? 

One  of  the  causes  is,  undoubtedly,  to  be  traced  to  the  long- 
continued  agitation  of  the  slave  question  on  the  part  of  the  North, 
and  the  many  aggressions  which  they  have  made  on  the  rights  of 
the  South  during  the  time.  I  will  not  enumerate  them  at  present,  as 
it  will  be  done  hereafter  in  its  proper  place. 

There  is  another  lying  back  of  it — with  which  this  is  intimately 
connected— that  may  be  regarded  as  the  great  and  primary  cause. 
This  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  equilibrium  between  the  two 
sections,  in  the  Government  as  it  stood  when  the  constitution  was 
ratified  and  the  Government  put  in  action,  has  been  destroyed.  At 
that  time  there  was  nearly  a  perfect  equilibrium  between  the  two, 
which  afforded  ample  means  to  each  to  protect  itself  against  the 
aggression  of  the  other;  but,  as  it  now  stands,  one  section  has  the 
exclusive  power  of  controlling  the  Government,  which  leaves  the 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  5QI 


other  without  any  adequate  means  of  protecting  itself  against  its 
encroachment  and  oppression.  To  place  this  subject  distinctly  before 
you,  I  have.  Senators,  prepared  a  brief  statistical  statement,  showing 
the  relative  weight  of  the  two  sections  in  the  Government  under  the 
first  census  of  1790  and  the  last  census  of  1840. 

According  to  the  former,  the  population  of  the  United  States, 
including  Vermont,  Kentucky,  and  Tennessee,  which  then  were  in 
their  incipient  condition  of  becoming  States,  but  were  not  actually 
admitted,  amounted  to  3,929,827.  Of  this  number  the  Northern 
States  had  1,997,899,  and  the  Southern  1,952,072,  making  a  differ- 
ence of  only  45,827  in  favor  of  the  former  States.  The  number  of 
States,  including  Vermont,  Kentucky,  and  Tennessee,  were  sixteen; 
of  which  eight,  including  Vermont,  belonged  to  the  Northern  section, 
and  eight,  including  Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  to  the  Southern, — 
making  an  equal  division  of  the  States  between  the  two  sections 
under  the  first  census.  There  was  a  small  preponderance  in  the  House 
of  Representatives,  and  in  the  Electoral  College,  in  favor  of  the 
Northern,  owing  to  the  fact  that,  according  to  the  provisions  of  the 
constitution,  in  estimating  federal  numbers  five  slaves  count  but 
three;  but  it  was  too  small  to  affect  sensibly  the  perfect  equilibrium 
which,  with  that  exception,  existed  at  the  time.  Such  was  the 
equality  of  the  two  sections  when  the  States  composing  them  agreed 
to  enter  into  a  Federal  Union.  Since  then  the  equilibrium  between 
them  has  been  greatly  disturbed. 

According  to  the  last  census  the  aggregate  population  of  the 
United  States  amounted  to  17,063,357,  of  which  the  Northern  sec- 
tion contained  9,728,920,  and  the  Southern  7,334,437,  making  a 
difference,  in  round  numbers,  of  2,400,000.  The  number  of  States 
had  increased  from  sixteen  to  twenty-six,  making  an  addition  of  ten 
States.  In  the  mean  time  the  position  of  Delaware  had  become 
doubtful  as  to  which  section  she  properly  belonged.  Considering 
her  as  neutral,  the  Northern  States  will  have  thirteen  and  the  South- 
ern States  twelve,  making  a  difference  in  the  Senate  of  two  Senators 
in  favor  of  the  former.  According  to  the  apportionment  under  the 
census  of  1840,  there  were  two  hundred  and  twenty-three  members 
of  the  House  of  Representatives,  of  which  the  Northern  States  had 
one  hundred  and  thirty-five,  and  the  Southern  States  (considering 
Delaware  as  neutral)  eighty-seven,  making  a  difference  in  favor  of 


592  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  former  in  the  House  of  Representatives  of  forty-eight.  The  dif- 
ference in  the  Senate  of  two  members,  added  to  this,  gives  to  the 
North  in  the  electoral  college,  a  majority  of  fifty.  Since  the  census 
of  1840,  four  States  have  been  added  to  the  Union — Iowa,  Wisconsin, 
Florida,  and  Texas.  They  leave  the  difference  in  the  Senate  as  it 
stood  when  the  census  was  taken;  but  add  two  to  the  side  of  the 
North  in  the  House,  making  the  present  majority  in  the  House  in 
its  favor  fifty,  and  in  the  electoral  college  fifty-two. 

The  result  of  the  whole  is  to  give  the  Northern  section  a 
predominance  in  every  department  of  the  Government,  and 
thereby  concentrate  in  it  the  two  elements  which  constitute  the 
Federal  Government, — majority  of  States,  and  a  majority  of  then- 
population,  estimated  in  federal  numbers.  Whatever  section 
concentrates  the  two  in  itself  possesses  the  control  of  the  entire 
Government. 

But  we  are  just  at  the  close  of  the  sixth  decade,  and  the  com- 
mencement of  the  seventh.  The  census  is  to  be  taken  this  year, 
which  must  add  greatly  to  the  decided  preponderance  of  the  North 
in  the  House  of  Representatives  and  in  the  electoral  college.  The 
prospect  is,  also,  that  a  great  increase  will  be  added  to  its  present 
preponderance  in  the  Senate,  during  the  period  of  the  decade,  by 
the  addition  of  new  States.  Two  territories,  Oregon  and  Minnesota, 
are  already  in  progress,  and  strenuous  efforts  are  making  to  bring 
in  three  additional  States  from  the  territory  recently  conquered  from 
Mexico;  which,  if  successful,  will  add  three  other  States  in  a  short 
time  to  the  Northern  section,  making  five  States;  and  increasing  the 
present  number  of  its  States  from  fifteen  to  twenty,  and  of  its 
Senators  from  thirty  to  forty.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  not  a  single 
territory  in  progress  in  the  Southern  section,  and  no  certainty  that 
any  additional  State  will  be  added  to  it  during  the  decade.  The 
prospect  then  is,  that  the  two  sections  in  the  Senate,  should  the 
efforts  now  made  to  exclude  the  South  from  the  newly  acquired 
territories  succeed,  will  stand,  before  the  end  of  the  decade,  twenty 
Northern  States  to  fourteen  Southern  (considering  Delaware  as  neu- 
tral), and  forty  Northern  Senators  to  twenty-eight  Southern.  This 
great  increase  of  Senators,  added  to  the  great  increase  of  members 
of  the  House  of  Representatives  and  the  electoral  college  on  the  part 
of  the  North,  which  must  take  place  under  the  next  decade,  will 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  593 


effectually  and  irretrievably  destroy  the  equilibrium  which  existed 
when  the  Government  commenced. 

Had  this  destruction  been  the  operation  of  time,  without  the 
interference  of  Government,  the  South  would  have  had  no  reason 
to  complain;  but  such  was  not  the  fact.  It  was  caused  by  the  legis- 
lation of  this  Government,  which  was  appointed,  as  the  common 
agent  of  all,  and  charged  with  the  protection  of  the  interests  and 
security  of  all.  The  legislation  by  which  it  has  been  effected,  may 
be  classed  under  three  heads.  The  first,  is  that  series  of  acts  by 
which  the  South  has  been  excluded  from  the  common  territory  be- 
longing to  all  the  States  as  members  of  the  Federal  Union — which 
have  had  the  effect  of  extending  vastly  the  portion  allotted  to  the 
Northern  section,  and  restricting  within  narrow  limits  the  portion 
left  the  South.  The  next  consists  in  adopting  a  system  of  revenue 
and  disbursements,  by  which  an  undue  proportion  of  the  burden  of 
taxation  has  been  imposed  upon  the  South,  and  an  undue  proportion 
of  its  proceeds  appropriated  to  the  North;  and  the  last  is  a  system 
of  political  measures,  by  which  the  original  character  of  the  Govern- 
ment has  been  radically  changed.  I  propose  to  bestow  upon  each 
of  these,  in  the  order  they  stand,  a  few  remarks,  with  the  view  of 
showing  that  it  is  owing  to  the  action  of  this  Government,  that  the 
equilibrium  between  the  two  sections  has  been  destroyed,  and  the 
whole  powers  of  the  system  centered  in  a  sectional  majority. 

The  first  of  the  series  of  acts  by  which  the  South  was  deprived 
of  its  due  share  of  the  territories,  originated  with  the  confederacy 
which  preceded  the  existence  of  this  Government.  It  is  to  be  found 
in  the  provision  of  the  ordinance  of  1787.  Its  effect  was  to  exclude 
the  South  entirely  from  that  vast  and  fertile  region  which  lies  between 
the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi  rivers,  now  embracing  five  States  and 
one  territory.  The  next  of  the  series  is  the  Missouri  compromise, 
which  excluded  the  South  from  that  large  portion  of  Louisiana 
which  lies  north  of  36°  30',  excepting  what  is  included  in  the  State 
of  Missouri.  The  last  of  the  series  excluded  the  South  from  the  whole 
of  the  Oregon  Territory.  All  these,  in  the  slang  of  the  day,  were 
what  are  called  slave  territories,  and  not  free  soil ;  that  is,  territories 
belonging  to  slaveholding  powers  and  open  to  the  emigration  of 
masters  with  their  slaves.  By  these  several  acts,  the  South 
was  excluded  from  1,238,025  square  miles — an  extent  of  country 


594  AMERICAN  PROSE 


considerably  exceeding  the  entire  valley  of  the  Mississippi.  To  the 
South  was  left  the  portion  of  the  Territory  of  Louisiana  lying  south 
of  36°  30',  and  the  portion  north  of  it  included  in  the  State  of  Mis- 
souri, with  the  portion  lying  south  of  36°  30',  including  the  States  of 
Louisiana  and  Arkansas,  and  the  territory  lying  west  of  the  latter, 
and  south  of  36°  30',  called  the  Indian  country.  These,  with  the 
Territory  of  Florida,  now  the  State,  make,  in  the  whole,  283,503 
square  miles.  To  this  must  be  added  the  territory  acquired  with 
Texas.  If  the  whole  should  be  added  to  the  Southern  section,  it 
would  make  an  increase  of  325,520,  which  would  make  the  whole 
left  to  the  South,  609,023.  But  a  large  part  of  Texas  is  still  in  contest 
between  the  two  sections,  which  leaves  it  uncertain  what  will  be  the 
real  extent  of  the  portion  of  territory  that  may  be  left  to  the  South. 

I  have  not  included  the  territory  recently  acquired  by  the  treaty 
with  Mexico.  The  North  is  making  the  most  strenuous  efforts  to 
appropriate  the  whole  to  herself,  by  excluding  the  South  from  every 
foot  of  it.  If  she  should  succeed,  it  will  add  to  that  from  which  the 
South  has  already  been  excluded,  526,078  square  miles,  and  would 
increase  the  whole  which  the  North  has  appropriated  to  herself,  to 
1,764,023,  not  including  the  portion  that  she  may  succeed  in  exclud- 
ing us  from  in  Texas.  To  sum  up  the  whole,  the  United  States, 
since  they  declared  their  independence,  have  acquired  2,373,046 
square  miles  of  territory,  from  which  the  North  will  have  excluded 
the  South,  if  she  should  succeed  in  monopolizing  the  newly  acquired 
territories,  about  three-fourths  of  the  whole,  leaving  to  the  South 
but  about  one-fourth. 

Such  is  the  first  and  great  cause  that  has  destroyed  the  equilib- 
rium between  the  two  sections  in  the  Government. 

The  next  is  the  system  of  revenue  and  disbursements  which 
has  been  adopted  by  the  Government.  It  is  well  known  that  the 
Government  has  derived  its  revenue  mainly  from  duties  on  imports. 
I  shall  not  undertake  to  show  that  such  duties  must  necessarily  fall 
mainly  on  the  exporting  States,  and  that  the  South,  as  the  great 
exporting  portion  of  the  Union,  has  in  reality  paid  vastly  more  than 
her  due  proportion  of  the  revenue;  because  I  deem  it  unnecessary, 
as  the  subject  has  on  so  many  occasions  been  fully  discussed.  Nor 
shall  I,  for  the  same  reason,  undertake  to  show  that  a  far  greater 
portion  of  the  revenue  has  been  disbursed  at  the  North,  than  its 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  595 


due  share;  and  that  the  joint  effect  of  these  causes  has  been,  to 
transfer  a  vast  amount  from  South  to  North,  which,  under  an  equal 
system  of  revenue  and  disbursements,  would  not  have  been  lost  to 
her.  If  to  this  be  added,  that  many  of  the  duties  were  imposed,  not 
for  revenue,  but  for  protection, — that  is,  intended  to  put  money, 
not  in  the  treasury,  but  directly  into  the  pocket  of  the  manufacturers, 
— some  conception  may  be  formed  of  the  immense  amount  which, 
in  the  long  course  of  sixty  years,  has  been  transferred  from  South  to 
North.  There  are  no  data  by  which  it  can  be  estimated  with  any 
certainty;  but  it  is  safe  to  say,  that  it  amounts  to  hundreds  of  millions 
of  dollars.  Under  the  most  moderate  estimate,  it  would  be  sufficient 
to  add  greatly  to  the  wealth  of  the  North,  and  thus  greatly  increase 
her  population  by  attracting  emigration  from  all  quarters  to  that 
section. 

This,  combined  with  the  great  primary  cause,  amply  explains 
why  the  North  has  acquired  a  preponderance  in  every  department 
of  the  Government  by  its  disproportionate  increase  of  population 
and  States.  The  former,  as  has  been  shown,  has  increased,  in  fifty 
years,  2,400,000  over  that  of  the  South.  This  increase  of  population, 
during  so  long  a  period,  is  satisfactorily  accounted  for,  by  the  number 
of  emigrants,  and  the  increase  of  their  descendants,  which  have  been 
attracted  to  the  Northern  section  from  Europe  and  the  South,  in 
consequence  of  the  advantages  derived  from  the  causes  assigned. 
If  they  had  not  existed — if  the  South  had  retained  all  the  capital 
which  has  been  extracted  from  her  by  the  fiscal  action  of  the  Govern- 
ment; and,  if  it  had  not  been  excluded  by  the  ordinance  of  1787  and 
the  Missouri  compromise,  from  the  region  lying  between  the  Ohio 
and  the  Mississippi  rivers,  and  between  the  Mississippi  and  the 
Rocky  Mountains  north  of  36°  30' — it  scarcely  admits  of  a  doubt, 
that  it  would  have  divided  the  emigration  with  the  North,  and  by 
retaining  her  own  people,  would  have  at  least  equalled  the  North 
in  population  under  the  census  of  1840,  and  probably  under  that 
about  to  be  taken.  She  would  also,  if  she  had  retained  her  equal 
rights  in  those  territories,  have  maintained  an  equality  in  the  num- 
ber of  States  with  the  North,  and  have  preserved  the  equilibrium 
between  the  two  sections  that  existed  at  the  commencement  of  the 
Government.  The  loss,  then,  of  the  equilibrium  is  to  be  attributed 
to  the  action  of  this  Government. 


596  AMERICAN  PROSE 


But  while  these  measures  were  destroying  the  equilibrium  be- 
tween the  two  sections,  the  action  of  the  Government  was  leading 
to  a  radical  change  in  its  character,  by  concentrating  all  the  power  of 
the  system  in  itself.  The  occasion  will  not  permit  me  to  trace  the 
measures  by  which  this  great  change  has  been  consummated.  If  it 
did,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  the  process  commenced 
at  an  early  period  of  the  Government;  and  that  it  proceeded,  almost 
without  interruption,  step  by  step,  until  it  absorbed  virtually  its 
entire  powers;  but  without  going  through  the  whole  process  to 
establish  the  fact,  it  may  be  done  satisfactorily  by  a  very  short 
statement. 

That  the  Government  claims,  and  practically  maintains  the 
right  to  decide  in  the  last  resort,  as  to  the  extent  of  its  powers,  will 
scarcely  be  denied  by  any  one  conversant  with  the  political  history 
of  the  country.  That  it  also  claims  the  right  to  resort  to  force  to 
maintain  whatever  power  it  claims,  against  all  opposition,  is  equally 
certain.  Indeed  it  is  apparent,  from  what  we  daily  hear,  that  this 
has  become  the  prevailing  and  fixed  opinion  of  a  great  majority  of 
the  community.  Now,  I  ask,  what  limitation  can  possibly  be  placed 
upon  the  powers  of  a  government  claiming  and  exercising  such 
rights  ?  And,  if  none  can  be,  how  can  the  separate  governments  of 
the  States  maintain  and  protect  the  powers  reserved  to  them  by  the 
constitution — or  the  people  of  the  several  States  maintain  those 
which  are  reserved  to  them,  and  among  others,  the  sovereign  powers 
by  which  they  ordained  and  established,  not  only  their  separate 
State  Constitutions  and  Governments,  but  also  the  Constitution 
and  Government  of  the  United  States  ?  But,  if  they  have  no  consti- 
tutional means  of  maintaining  them  against  the  right  claimed  by 
this  Government,  it  necessarily  follows,  that  they  hold  them  at  its 
pleasure  and  discretion,  and  that  all  the  powers  of  the  system  are  in 
reality  concentrated  in  it.  It  also  follows,  that  the  character  of  the 
Government  has  been  changed  in  consequence,  from  a  federal  republic, 
as  it  originally  came  from  the  hands  of  its  framers,  into  a  great 
national  consolidated  democracy.  It  has  indeed,  at  present,  all  the 
characteristics  of  the  latter,  and  not  one  of  the  former,  although  it 
still  retains  its  outward  form. 

The  result  of  the  whole  of  these  causes  combined  is — that  the 
North  has  acquired  a  decided  ascendency  over  every  department  of 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  597 


this  Government,  and  through  it  a  control  over  all  the  powers  of  the 
system.  A  single  section  governed  by  the  will  of  the  numerical 
majority,  has  now,  in  fact,  the  control  of  the  Government  and  the 
entire  powers  of  the  system.  What  was  once  a  constitutional  federal 
republic,  is  now  converted,  in  reality,  into  one  as  absolute  as  that  of 
the  Autocrat  of  Russia,  and  as  despotic  in  its  tendency  as  any  abso- 
lute government  that  ever  existed. 

As,  then,  the  North  has  the  absolute  control  over  the  Govern- 
ment, it  is  manifest,  that  on  all  questions  between  it  and  the  South, 
where  there  is  a  diversity  of  interests,  the  interest  of  the  latter  will  be 
sacrificed  to  the  former,  however  oppressive  the  effects  may  be;  as 
the  South  possesses  no  means  by  which  it  can  resist,  through  the 
action  of  the  Government.  But  if  there  was  rto  question  of  vital 
importance  to  the  South,  in  reference  to  which  there  was  a  diversity 
of  views  between  the  two  sections,  this  state  of  things  might  be 
endured,  without  the  hazard  of  destruction  to  the  South.  But  such 
is  not  the  fact.  There  is  a  question  of  vital  importance  to  the  South- 
ern section,  in  reference  to  which  the  views  and  feelings  of  the  two 
sections  are  as  opposite  and  hostile  as  they  can  possibly  be. 

I  refer  to  the  relation  between  the  two  races  in  the  Southern 
section,  which  constitutes  a  vital  portion  of  her  social  organization. 
Every  portion  of  the  North  entertains  views  and  feelings  more  or 
less  hostile  to  it.  Those  most  opposed  and  hostile,  regard  it  as  a  sin, 
and  consider  themselves  under  the  most  sacred  obligation  to  use 
every  effort  to  destroy  it.  Indeed,  to  the  extent  that  they  conceive 
that  they  have  power,  they  regard  themselves  as  implicated  in  the 
sin,  and  responsible  for  not  suppressing  it  by  the  use  of  all  and  every 
means.  Those  less  opposed  and  hostile,  regard  it  as  a  crime — an 
offence  against  humanity,  as  they  call  it;  and  although  not  so  fanat- 
ical, feel  themselves  bound  to  use  all  efforts  to  effect  the  same  object; 
while  those  who  are  least  opposed  and  hostile,  regard  it  as  a  blot 
and  a  stain  on  the  character  of  what  they  call  the  Nation,  and  feel 
themselves  accordingly  bound  to  give  it  no  countenance  or  support. 
On  the  contrary,  the  Southern  section  regards  the  relation  as  one 
which  cannot  be  destroyed  without  subjecting  the  two  races  to  the 
greatest  calamity,  and  the  section  to  poverty,  desolation,  and  wretch- 
edness; and  accordingly  they  feel  bound,  by  every  consideration  of 
interest  and  safety,  to  defend  it. 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


This  hostile  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  North  towards  the  social 
organization  of  the  South  long  lay  dormant,  but  it  only  required 
some  cause  to  act  on  those  who  felt  most  intensely  that  they  were 
responsible  for  its  continuance,  to  call  it  into  action.  The  increasing 
power  of  this  Government,  and  of  the  control  of  the  Northern  sec- 
tion over  all  its  departments,  furnished  the  cause.  It  was  this  which 
made  an  impression  on  the  minds  of  many,  that  there  was  little  or 
no  restraint  to  prevent  the  Government  from  doing  whatever  it 
might  choose  to  do.  This  was  sufficient  of  itself  to  put  the  most 
fanatical  portion  of  the  North  in  action,  for  the  purpose  of  destroying 
the  existing  relation  between  the  two  races  in  the  South. 

The  first  organized  movement  towards  it  commenced  in  1835. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  societies  were  organized,  presses  established, 
lecturers  sent  forth  to  excite  the  people  of  the  North,  and  incendiary 
publications  scattered  over  the  whole  South,  through  the  mail.  The 
South  was  thoroughly  aroused.  Meetings  were  held  everywhere, 
and  resolutions  adopted,  calling  upon  the  North  to  apply  a  remedy 
to  arrest  the  threatened  evil,  and  pledging  themselves  to  adopt 
measures  for  their  own  protection,  if  it  was  not  arrested.  At  the 
meeting  of  Congress,  petitions  poured  in  from  the  North,  calling 
upon  Congress  to  abolish  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia,  and 
to  prohibit,  what  they  called,  the  internal  slave  trade  between  the 
States — announcing  at  the  same  time,  that  their  ultimate  object 
was  to  abolish  slavery,  not, only  in  the  District,  but  in  the  States 
and  throughout  the  Union.  At  this  period,  the  number  engaged  in 
the  agitation  was  small,  and  possessed  little  or  no  personal  influence. 

Neither  party  in  Congress  had,  at  that  time,  any  sympathy 
with  them  or  their  cause.  The  members  of  each  party  presented 
their  petitions  with  great  reluctance.  Nevertheless,  small  and  con- 
temptible as  the  party  then  was,  both  of  the  great  parties  of  the 
North  dreaded  them.  They  felt,  that  though  small,  they  were  organ- 
ized in  reference  to  a  subject  which  had  a  great  and  a  commanding 
influence  over  the  Northern  mind.  Each  party,  on  that  account, 
feared  to  oppose  their  petitions,  lest  the  opposite  party  should  take 
advantage  of  the  one  who  might  do  so,  by  favoring  them.  The 
effect  was,  that  both  united  in  insisting  that  the  petitions  should  be 
received,  and  that  Congress  should  take  jurisdiction  over  the  subject. 
To  justify  their  course,  they  took  the  extraordinary  ground,  that 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  599 


Congress  was  bound  to  receive  petitions  on  every  subject,  however 
objectionable  they  might  be,  and  whether  they  had,  or  had  not, 
jurisdiction  over  the  subject.  These  views  prevailed  in  the  House 
of  Representatives,  and  partially  in  the  Senate;  and  thus  the  party 
succeeded  in  their  first  movements,  in  gaining  what  they  proposed — 
a  position  in  Congress  from  which  agitation  could  be  extended  over 
the  whole  Union.  This  was  the  commencement  of  the  agitation, 
which  has  ever  since  continued,  and  which,  as  is  now  acknowledged, 
has  endangered  the  Union  itself. 

As  for  myself,  I  believed  at  that  early  period,  if  the  party  who 
got  up  the  petitions  should  succeed  in  getting  Congress  to  take 
jurisdiction,  that  agitation  would  follow,  and  that  it  would  in  the 
end,  if  not  arrested,  destroy  the  Union.  I  then  so  expressed  myself 
in  debate,  and  called  upon  both  parties  to  take  grounds  against 
assuming  jurisdiction;  but  in  vain.  Had  my  voice  been  heeded,  and 
had  Congress  refused  to  take  jurisdiction,  by  the  united  votes  of  all 
parties,  the  agitation  which  followed  would  have  been  prevented, 
and  the  fanatical  zeal  that  gives  impulse  to  the  agitation,  and  which 
has  brought  us  to  our  present  perilous  condition,  would  have  become 
extinguished,  from  the  want  of  fuel  to  feed  the  flame.  That  was 
the  time  for  the  North  to  have  shown  her  devotion  to  the  Union; 
but,  unfortunately,  both  of  the  great  parties  of  that  section  were  so 
intent  on  obtaining  or  retaining  party  ascendency,  that  all  other 
considerations  were  overlooked  or  forgotten. 

What  has  since  followed  are  but  natural  consequences.  With 
the  success  of  their  first  movement,  this  small  fanatical  party  began 
to  acquire  strength;  and  with  that,  to  become  an  object  of  courtship 
to  both  the  great  parties.  The  necessary  consequence  was,  a  further 
increase  of  power,  and  a  gradual  tainting  of  the  opinions  of  both  of 
the  other  parties  with  their  doctrines,  until  the  infection  has  extended 
over  both;  and  the  great  mass  of  the  population  of  the  North,  who, 
whatever  may  be  their  opinion  of  the  original  abolition  party,  which 
still  preserves  its  distinctive  organization,  hardly  ever  fail,  when  it 
comes  to  acting,  to  co-operate  in  carrying  out  their  measures.  With 
the  increase  of  their  influence,  they  extended  the  sphere  of  their 
action.  In  a  short  time  after  the  commencement  of  their  first  move- 
ment, they  had  acquired  sufficient  influence  to  induce  the  legislatures 
of  most  of  the  Northern  States  to  pass  acts,  which  in  effect  abrogated 


600  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  clause  of  the  constitution  that  provides  for  the  delivery  up  of 
fugitive  slaves.  Not  long  after,  petitions  followed  to  abolish  slavery 
in  forts,  magazines,  and  dockyards,  and  all  other  places  where  Congress 
had  exclusive  power  of  legislation.  This  was  followed  by  petitions 
and  resolutions  of  legislatures  of  the  Northern  States,  and  popular 
meetings,  to  exclude  the  Southern  States  from  all  territories  acquired, 
or  to  be  acquired,  and  to  prevent  the  admission  of  any  State  here- 
after into  the  Union,  which,  by  its  constitution,  does  not  prohibit 
slavery.  And  Congress  is  invoked  to  do  all  this,  expressly  with  the 
view  to  the  final  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  States.  That  has  been 
avowed  to  be  the  ultimate  object  from  the  beginning  of  the  agitation 
until  the  present  time;  and  yet  the  great  body  of  both  parties  of  the 
North,  with  the  full  knowledge  of  the  fact,  although  disavowing  the 
abolitionists,  have  co-operated  with  them  in  almost  all  their  measures. 
Such  is  a  brief  history  of  the  agitation,  as  far  as  it  has  yet  ad- 
vanced. Now  I  ask,  Senators,  what  is  there  to  prevent  its  further 
progress,  until  it  fulfils  the  ultimate  end  proposed,  unless  some  deci- 
sive measure  should  be  adopted  to  prevent  it  ?  Has  any  one  of  the 
causes,  which  has  added  to  its  increase  from  its  original  small  and 
contemptible  beginning  until  it  has  attained  its  present  magnitude, 
diminished  in  force  ?  Is  the  original  cause  of  the  movement — that 
slavery  is  a  sin,  and  ought  to  be  suppressed — weaker  now  than  at 
the  commencement?  Or  is  the  abolition  party  less  numerous  or 
influential,  or  have  they  less  influence  with,  or  control  over  the  two 
great  parties  of  the  North  in  elections?  Or  has  the  South  greater 
means  of  influencing  or  controlling  the  movements  of  this  Govern- 
ment now,  than  it  had  when  the  agitation  commenced?  To  all 
these  questions  but  one  answer  can  be  given:  No — no — no.  The 
very  reverse  is  true.  Instead  of  being  weaker,  all  the  elements  in 
favor  of  agitation  are  stronger  now  than  they  were  in  1835,  when  it 
first  commenced,  while  all  the  elements  of  influence  on  the  part  of 
the  South  are  weaker.  Unless  something  decisive  is  done,  I  again 
ask,  what  is  to  stop  this  agitation,  before  the  great  and  final  object 
at  which  it  aims — the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  States — is  consum- 
mated? Is  it,  then,  not  certain,  that  if  something  is  not  done  to 
arrest  it,  the  South  will  be  forced  to  choose  between  abolition  and 
secession  ?  Indeed,  as  events  are  now  moving,  it  will  not  require 
the  South  to  secede,  in  order  to  dissolve  the  Union.  Agitation  will 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  601 


of  itself  effect  it,  of  which  its  past  history  furnishes  abundant  proof — 
as  I  shall  next  proceed  to  show. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  disunion  can  be  effected 
by  a  single  blow.  The  cords  which  bound  these  States  together  in 
one  common  Union,  are  far  too  numerous  and  powerful  for  that. 
Disunion  must  be  the  work  of  time.  It  is  only  through  a  long  process, 
and  successively,  that  the  cords  can  be  snapped,  until  the  whole 
fabric  falls  asunder.  Already  the  agitation  of  the  slavery  question 
has  snapped  some  of  the  most  important,  and  has  greatly  weakened 
all  the  others,  as  I  shall  proceed  to  show. 

The  cords  that  bind  the  States  together  are  not  only  many,  but 
various  in  character.  Some  are  spiritual  or  ecclesiastical;  some 
political;  others  social.  Some  appertain  to  the  benefit  conferred  by 
the  Union,  and  others  to  the  feeling  of  duty  and  obligation. 

The  strongest  of  those  of  a  spiritual  and  ecclesiastical  nature, 
consisted  in  the  unity  of  the  great  religious  denominations,  all  of 
which  originally  embraced  the  whole  Union.  All  these  denominations, 
with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  Catholics,  were  organized  very 
much  upon  the  principle  of  our  political  institutions.  Beginning  with 
smaller  meetings,  corresponding  with  the  political  divisions  of  the 
country,  their  organization  terminated  in  one  great  central  assem- 
blage, corresponding  very  much  with  the  character  of  Congress.  At 
these  meetings  the  principal  clergymen  and  lay  members  of  the 
respective  denominations,  from  all  parts  of  the  Union,  met  to  trans- 
act business  relating  to  their  common  concerns.  It  was  not  confined 
to  what  appertained  to  the  doctrines  and  discipline  of  the  respective 
denominations,  but  extended  to  plans  for  disseminating  the  Bible — 
establishing  missions,  distributing  tracts — and  of  establishing  presses 
for  the  publication  of  tracts,  newspapers,  and  periodicals,  with  a 
view  of  diffusing  religious  information — and  for  the  support  of  their 
respective  doctrines  and  creeds.  All  this  combined  contributed 
greatly  to  strengthen  the  bonds  of  the  Union.  The  ties  which  held 
each  denomination  together  formed  a  strong  cord  to  hold  the  whole 
Union  together;  but,  powerful  as  they  were,  they  have  not  been 
able  to  resist  the  explosive  effect  of  slavery  agitation. 

The  first  of  these  cords  which  snapped,  under  its  explosive  force, 
was  that  of  the  powerful  Methodist  Episcopal  Church.  The  numer- 
ous and  strong  ties  which  held  it  together,  are  all  broken,  and  its 


602  AMERICAN  PROSE 


unity  gone.  They  now  form  separate  churches;  and,  instead  of  that 
feeling  of  attachment  and  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the  whole 
church  which  was  formerly  felt,  they  are  now  arrayed  into  two  hos- 
tile bodies,  engaged  in  litigation  about  what  was  formerly  their 
common  property. 

The  next  cord  that  snapped  was  that  of  the  Baptists — one  of 
the  largest  and  most  respectable  of  the  denominations.  That  of  the 
Presbyterian  is  not  entirely  snapped,  but  some  of  its  strands  have 
given  way.  That  of  the  Episcopal  Church  is  the  only  one  of  the  four 
great  Protestant  denominations  which  remains  unbroken  and  entire. 

The  strongest  cord,  of  a  political  character,  consists  of  the  many 
and  powerful  ties  that  have  held  together  the  two  great  parties 
which  have,  with  some  modifications,  existed  from  the  beginning  of 
the  Government.  They  both  extended  to  every  portion  of  the  Union,  \ 
and  strongly  contributed  to  hold  all  its  parts  together.  But  this 
powerful  cord  has  fared  no  better  than  the  spiritual.  It  resisted,  for 
a  long  time,  the  explosive  tendency  of  the  agitation,  but  has  finally 
snapped  under  its  force — if  not  entirely,  in  a  great  measure.  Nor  is 
there  one  of  the  remaining  cords  which  has  not  been  greatly  weak- 
ened. To  this  extent  the  Union  has  already  been  destroyed  by  agita- 
tion, in  the  only  way  it  can  be,  by  sundering  and  weakening  the  cords 
which  bind  it  together. 

If  the  agitation  goes  on,  the  same  force,  acting  with  increased 
intensity,  as  has  been  shown,  will  finally  snap  every  cord,  when 
nothing  will  be  left  to  hold  the  States  together  except  force.  But, 
surely,  that  can,  with  no  propriety  of  language,  be  called  a  Union, 
when  the  only  means  by  which  the  weaker  is  held  connected  with 
the  stronger  portion  is  force.  It  may,  indeed,  keep  them  connected ; 
but  the  connection  will  partake  much  more  of  the  character  of  sub- 
jugation, on  the  part  of  the  weaker  to  the  stronger,  than  the  union  of 
free,  independent,  and  sovereign  States,  in  one  confederation,  as 
they  stood  in  the  early  stages  of  the  Government,  and  which  only 
is  worthy  of  the  sacred  name  of  Union. 

Having  now,  Senators,  explained  what  it  is  that  endangers  the 
Union,  and  traced  it  to  its  cause,  and  explained  its  nature  and  char- 
acter, the  question  again  recurs — How  can  the  Union  be  saved  ?    To    . 
this  I  answer,  there  is  but  one  way  by  which  it  can  be — and  that  is — 
by  adopting  such  measures  as  will  satisfy  the  States  belonging  to 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  603 


the  Southern  section,  that  they  can  remain  in  the  Union  consistently 
with  their  honor  and  their  safety.  There  is,  again,  only  one  way  by 
which  this  can  be  effected,  and  that  is — by  removing  the  causes  by 
which  this  belief  has  been  produced.  Do  this,  and  discontent  will 
cease — harmony  and  kind  feelings  between  the  sections  be  restored — 
and  every  apprehension  of  danger  to  the  Union  removed.  The 
question,  then,  is — How  can  this  be  done  ?  But,  before  I  undertake 
to  answer  this  question,  I  propose  to  show  by  what  the  Union  cannot 
be  saved. 

It  cannot,  then,  be  saved  by  eulogies  on  the  Union,  however 
splendid  or  numerous.  The  cry  of  "Union,  Union — the  glorious 
Union!"  can  no  more  prevent  disunion  than  the  cry  of  "Health, 
health — glorious  health!"  on  the  part  of  the  physician,  can  save  a 
patient  lying  dangerously  ill.  So  long  as  the  Union,  instead  of  being 
regarded  as  a  protector,  is  regarded  in  the  opposite  character,  by  not 
much  less  than  a  majority  of  the  States,  it  will  be  in  vain  to  attempt 
to  conciliate  them  by  pronouncing  eulogies  on  it. 

Besides  this  cry  of  Union  comes  commonly  from  those  whom  we 
cannot  believe  to  be  sincere.  It  usually  comes  from  our  assailants. 
But  we  cannot  believe  them  to  be  sincere;  for,  if  they  loved  the 
Union,  they  would  necessarily  be  devoted  to  the  constitution.  It 
made  the  Union, — and  to  destroy  the  constitution  would  be  to  destroy 
the  Union.  But  the  only  reliable  and  certain  evidence  of  devotion 
to  the  constitution  is,  to  abstain,  on  the  one  hand,  from  violating  it, 
and  to  repel,  on  the  other,  all  attempts  to  violate  it.  It  is  only  by 
faithfully  performing  these  high  duties  that  the  constitution  can  be 
preserved,  and  with  it  the  Union. 

But  how  stands  the  profession  of  devotion  to  the  Union  by  our 
assailants,  when  brought  to  this  test  ?  Have  they  abstained  from 
violating  the  constitution  ?  Let  the  many  acts  passed  by  the  North- 
ern States  to  set  aside  and  annul  the  clause  of  the  constitution 
providing  for  the  delivery  up  of  fugitive  slaves  answer.  I  cite  this, 
not  that  it  is  the  only  instance  (for  there  are  many  others),  but 
because  the  violation  in  this  particular  is  too  notorious  and  palpable 
to  be  denied.  Again:  have  they  stood  forth  faithfully  to  repel 
violations  of  the  constitution  ?  Let  their  course  in  reference  to  the 
agitation  of  the  slavery  question,  which  was  commenced  and  has 
been  carried  on  for  fifteen  years,  avowedly  for  the  purpose  of  abolishing 


604  AMERICAN  PROSE 


slavery  in  the  States — an  object  all  acknowledged  to  be  uncon- 
stitutional— answer.  Let  them  show  a  single  instance,  during  this 
long  period,  in  which  they  have  denounced  the  agitators  or  their 
attempts  to  effect  what  is  admitted  to  be  unconstitutional,  or  a  single 
measure  which  they  have  brought  forward  for  that  purpose.  How 
can  we,  with  all  these  facts  before  us,  believe  that  they  are  sincere 
in  their  profession  of  devotion  to  the  Union,  or  avoid  believing  their 
profession  is  but  intended  to  increase  the  vigor  of  their  assaults  and 
to  weaken  the  force  of  our  resistance  ? 

Nor  can  we  regard  the  profession  of  devotion  to  the  Union,  on 
the  part  of  those  who  are  not  our  assailants,  as  sincere,  when  they 
pronounce  eulogies  upon  the  Union,  evidently  with  the  intent  of 
charging  us  with  disunion,  without  uttering  one  word  of  denunciation 
against  our  assailants.  If  friends  of  the  Union,  their  course  should 
be  to  unite  with  us  in  repelling  these  assaults,  and  denouncing  the 
authors  as  enemies  of  the  Union.  Why  they  avoid  this,  and  pursue 
the  course  they  do,  it  is  for  them  to  explain. 

Nor  can  the  Union  be  saved  by  invoking  the  name  of  the  illus- 
trious Southerner  whose  mortal  remains  repose  on  the  western  bank 
of  the  Potomac.  He  was  one  of  us — a  slaveholder  and  a  planter. 
We  have  studied  his  history,  and  find  nothing  in  it  to  justify  sub- 
mission to  wrong.  On  the  contrary,  his  great  fame  rests  on  the 
solid  foundation,  that,  while  he  was  careful  to  avoid  doing  wrong  to 
others,  he  was  prompt  and  decided  in  repelling  wrong.  I  trust  that, 
in  this  respect,  we  profited  by  his  example. 

Nor  can  we  find  any  thing  in  his  history  to  deter  us  from  seceding 
from  the  Union,  should  it  fail  to  fulfil  the  objects  for  which  it  was 
instituted,  by  being  permanently  and  hopelessly  converted  into  the 
means  of  oppressing  instead  of  protecting  us.  On  the  contrary,  we 
find  much  in  his  example  to  encourage  us,  should  we  be  forced  to 
the  extremity  of  deciding  between  submission  and  disunion. 

There  existed  then,  as  well  as  now,  a  union — that  between  the 
parent  country  and  her  then  colonies.  It  was  a  union  that  had  much 
to  endear  it  to  the  people  of  the  colonies.  Under  its  protecting  and 
superintending  care,  the  colonies  were  planted  and  grew  up  and 
prospered,  through  a  long  course  of  years,  until  they  became  populous 
and  wealthy.  Its  benefits  were  not  limited  to  them.  Their  extensive 
agricultural  and  other  productions,  gave  birth  to  a  flourishing  com- 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN-  605 


merce,  which  richly  rewarded  the  parent  country  for  the  trouble  and 
expense  of  establishing  and  protecting  them.  Washington  was  born 
and  grew  up  to  manhood  under  that  union.  He  acquired  his  early 
distinction  in  its  service,  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  he 
was  devotedly  attached  to  it.  But  his  devotion  was  a  rational  one. 
He  was  attached  to  it,  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a  means  to  an  end. 
When  it  failed  to  fulfil  its  end,  and,  instead  of  affording  protection, 
was  converted  into  the  means  of  oppressing  the  colonies,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  draw  his  sword,  and  head  the  great  movement  by  which 
that  union  was  for  ever  severed,  and  the  independence  of  these 
States  established.  This  was  the  great  and  crowning  glory  of  his 
life,  which  has  spread  his  fame  over  the  whole  gfobe,  and  will  transmit 
it  to  the  latest  posterity. 

Nor  can  the  plan  proposed  by  the  distinguished  Senator  from 
Kentucky,  nor  that  of  the  administration  save  the  Union.  I  shall 
pass  by,  without  remark,  the  plan  proposed  by  the  Senator,  and 
proceed  directly  to  the  consideration  of  that  of  the  administration.  I 
however  assure  the  distinguished  and  able  Senator,  that,  in  taking 
this  course,  no  disrespect  whatever  is  intended  to  him  or  his  plan. 
I  have  adopted  it,  because  so  many  Senators  of  distinguished  abilities, 
who  were  present  when  he  delivered  his  speech,  and  explained  his 
plan,  and  who  were  fully  capable  to  do  justice  to  the  side  they  sup- 
port, have  replied  to  him. 

The  plan  of  the  administration  cannot  save  the  Union,  because 
it  can  have  no  effect  whatever,  towards  satisfying  the  States  com- 
posing the  Southern  section  of  the  Union,  that  they  can,  consistently 
with  safety  and  honor,  remain  in  the  Union.  It  is,  in  fact,  but  a 
modification  of  the  Wilmot  Proviso.  It  proposes  to  effect  the  same 
object, — to  exclude  the  South  from  all  territory  acquired  by  the 
Mexican  treaty.  It  is  well  known  that  the  South  is  united  against 
the  Wilmot  Proviso,  and  has  committed  itself  by  solemn  resolutions, 
to  resist,  should  it  be  adopted.  Its  opposition  is  not  to  the  name, 
but  that  which  it  proposes  to  effect.  That,  the  Southern  States  hold 
to  be  unconstitutional,  unjust,  inconsistent  with  their  equality  as 
members  of  the  common  Union,  and  calculated  to  destroy  irretriev- 
ably the  equilibrium  between  the  two  sections.  These  objections 
equally  apply  to  what,  for  brevity,  I  will  call  the  Executive  Proviso. 
There  is  no  difference  between  it  and  the  Wilmot,  except  in  the  mode 


606  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  effecting  the  object;  and  in  that  respect,  I  must  say,  that  the 
latter  is  much  the  least  objectionable.  It  goes  to  its  object  openly, 
boldly,  and  distinctly.  It  claims  for  Congress  unlimited  power 
over  the  territories  and  proposes  to  assert  it  over  the  territories, 
acquired  from  Mexico,  by  a  positive  prohibition  of  slavery.  Not 
so  the  Executive  Proviso.  It  takes  an  indirect  course,  and  in 
order  to  elude  the  Wilmot  Proviso,  and  thereby  avoid  encounter- 
ing the  united  and  determined  resistance  of  the  South,  it  denies, 
by  implication,  the  authority  of  Congress  to  legislate  for  the 
territories,  and  claims  the  right  as  belonging  exclusively  to  the  in- 
habitants of  the  territories.  But  to  effect  the  object  of  excluding 
the  South,  it  takes  care,  in  the  mean  time,  to  let  in  emigrants  freely 
from  the  Northern  States  and  all  other  quarters,  except  from  the 
South,  which  it  takes  special  care  to  exclude  by  holding  up  to  them 
the  danger  of  having  their  slaves  liberated  under  the  Mexican  laws. 
The  necessary  consequence  is  to  exclude  the  South  from  the  territory, 
just  as  effectually  as  would  the  Wilmot  Proviso.  The  only  difference 
in  this  respect  is,  that  what  one  proposes  to  effect  directly  and  openly, 
the  other  proposes  to  effect  indirectly  and  covertly. 

But  the  Executive  Proviso  is  more  objectionable  than  the  Wilmot, 
in  another  and  more  important  particular.  The  latter,  to  effect  its 
object,  inflicts  a  dangerous  wound  upon  the  constitution,  by  depriving 
the  Southern  States,  as  joint  partners  and  owners  of  the  territories,  of 
their  rights  in  them;  but  it  inflicts  no  greater  wound  than  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  effect  its  object.  The  former,  on  the-  contrary, 
while  it  inflicts  the  same  wound,  inflicts  others  equally  great,  and,  if 
possible,  greater,  as  I  shall  next  proceed  to  explain. 

In  claiming  the  right  for  the  inhabitants,  instead  of  Congress,  to 
legislate  for  the  territories,  the  Executive  Proviso  assumes  that  the 
sovereignty  over  the  territories  is  vested  in  the  former:  or  to  express 
it  in  the  language  used  in  a  resolution  offered  by  one  of  the  Senators 
from  Texas  (General  Houston,  now  absent),  they  have  "the  same 
inherent  right  of  self-government  as  the  people  in  the  States."  The 
assumption  is  utterly  unfounded,  unconstitutional,  without  example, 
and  contrary  to  the  entire  practice  of  the  Government,  from  its 
commencement  to  the  present  time 

Having  now  shown  what  cannot  save  the  Union,  I  return  to  the 
question  with  which  I  commenced,  How  can  the  Union  be  saved? 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  607 


There  is  but  one  way  by  which  it  can  with  any  certainty;  and  that 
is,  by  a  full  and  final  settlement,  on  the  principle  of  justice,  of  all 
the  questions  at  issue  between  the  two  sections.  The  South  asks 
for  justice,  simple  justice,  and  less  she  ought  not  to  take.  She  has 
no  compromise  to  offer,  but  the  constitution;  and  no  concession  or 
surrender  to  make.  She  has  already  surrendered  so  much  that  she 
has  little  left  to  surrender.  Such  a  settlement  would  go  to  the  root 
of  the  evil,  and  remove  all  cause  of  discontent,  by  satisfying  the  South, 
that  she  could  remain  honorably  and  safely  in  the  Union,  and  thereby 
restore  the  harmony  and  fraternal  feelings  between  the  sections, 
which  existed  anterior  to  the  Missouri  agitation.  Nothing  else  can, 
with  any  certainty,  finally  and  for  ever  settle  the  questions  at  issue, 
terminate  agitation,  and  save  the  Union. 

But  can  this  be  done  ?  Yes,  easily;  not  by  the  weaker  party,  for 
it  can  of  itself  do  nothing — not  even  protect  itself — but  by  the 
stronger.  The  North  has  only  to  will  it  to  accomplish  it — to  do 
justice  by  conceding  to  the  South  an  equal  right  in  the  acquired 
territory,  and  to  do  her  duty  by  causing  the  stipulations  relative  to 
fugitive  slaves  to  be  faithfully  fulfilled — to  cease  the  agitation  of  the 
slave  question,  and  to  provide  for  the  insertion  of  a  provision  in  the 
constitution,  by  an  amendment,  which  will  restore  to  the  South,  in 
substance,  the  power  she  possessed  of  protecting  herself,  before  the 
equilibrium  between  the  sections  was  destroyed  by  the  action  of  this 
Government.  There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  devising  such  a  provision 
— one  that  will  protect  the  South,  and  which,  at  the  same  time,  will 
improve  and  strengthen  the  Government,  instead  of  impairing  and 
weakening  it. 

But  will  the  North  agree  to  this?  It  is  for  her  to  answer  the 
question.  But,  I  will  say,  she  cannot  refuse,  if  she  has  half  the  love 
of  the  Union  which  she  professes  to  have,  or  without  justly  exposing 
herself  to  the  charge  that  her  love  of  power  and  aggrandizement  is 
far  greater  than  her  love  of  the  Union.  At  all  events,  the  responsibil- 
ity of  saving  the  Union  rests  on  the  North,  and  not  on  the  South.  The 
South  cannot  save  it  by  any  act  of  hers,  and  the  North  may  save  it 
without  any  sacrifice  whatever,  unless  to  do  justice,  and  to  perform  her 
duties  under  the  constitution,  should  be  regarded  by  her  as  a  sacrifice. 

It  is  time,  Senators,  that  there  should  be  an  open  and  manly 
avowal  on  all  sides,  as  to  what  is  intended  to  be  done.  If  the  question 


608  AMERICAN  PROSE 


is  not  now  settled,  it  is  uncertain  whether  it  ever  can  hereafter 
be;  and  we,  as  the  representatives  of  the  States  of  this  Union,  re- 
garded as  governments,  should  come  to  a  distinct  understanding  as 
to  our  respective  views,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  the  great 
questions  at  issue  can  be  settled  or  not.  If  you,  who  represent  the 
stronger  portion,  cannot  agree  to  settle  them  on  the  broad  principle 
of  justice  and  duty,  say  so;  and  let  the  States  we  both  represent 
agree  to  separate  and  part  in  peace.  If  you  are  unwilling  we  should 
part  in  peace,  tell  us  so;  and  we  shall  know  what  to  do,  when  you 
reduce  the  question  to  submission  or  resistance.  If  you  remain 
silent,  you  will  compel  us  to  infer  by  your  acts  what  you  intend.  In 
that  case,  California  will  become  the  test  question.  If  you  admit 
her,  under  all  the  difficulties  that  oppose  her  admission,  you  compel 
us  to  infer  that  you  intend  to  exclude  us  from  the  whole  of  the  ac- 
quired territories,  with  the  intention  of  destroying,  irretrievably,  the 
equilibrium  between  the  two  sections.  We  would  be  blind  not  to 
perceive  in  that  case,  that  your  real  objects  are  power  and  aggran- 
dizement, and  infatuated  not  to  act  accordingly. 

I  have  now,  Senators,  done  my  duty  in  expressing  my  opinions 
fully,  freely,  and  candidly,  on  this  solemn  occasion.  In  doing  so,  I 
have  been  governed  by  the  motives  which  have  governed  me  in  all 
the  stages  of  the  agitation  of  the  slavery  question  since  its  commence- 
ment. I  have  exerted  myself,  during  the  whole  period,  to  arrest  it, 
with  the  intention  of  saving  the  Union,  if  it  could  be  done;  and  if 
it  could  not,  to  save  the  section  where  it  has  pleased  Providence  to 
cast  my  lot,  and  which  I  sincerely  believe  has  justice  and  the  consti- 
tution on  its  side.  Having  faithfully  done  my  duty  to  the  best  of 
my  ability,  both  to  the  Union  and  my  section,  throughout  this 
agitation,  I  shall  have  the  consolation,  let  what  will  come,  that  I  am 
free  from  all  responsibility. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER 

THE  CONSTITUTION  AND  THE  UNION 

MR.  PRESIDENT, — I  wish  to  speak  to-day,  not  as  a  Massachu- 
setts man,  nor  as  a  Northern  man,  but  as  an  American,  and  a  member 
of  the  Senate  of  the  United  States.  It  is  fortunate  that  there  is  a 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  609 


Senate  of  the  United  States;  a  body  not  yet  moved  from  its  propriety, 
not  lost  to  a  just  sense  of  its  own  dignity  and  its  own  high  respon- 
sibilities, and  a  body  to  which  the  country  looks,  with  confidence, 
for  wise,  moderate,  patriotic,  and  healing  counsels.  It  is  not  to  be 
denied  that  we  live  in  the  midst  of  strong  agitations,  and  are  sur- 
rounded by  very  considerable  dangers  to  our  institutions  and  govern- 
ment. The  imprisoned  winds  are  let  loose.  The  East,  the  North, 
and  the  stormy  South  combine  to  throw  the  whole  sea  into  commotion, 
to  toss  its  billows  to  the  skies,  and  disclose  its  profoundest  depths.  I 
do  not  affect  to  regard  myself,  Mr.  President,  as  holding,  or  as  fit 
to  hold,  the  helm  in  this  combat  with  the  political  elements;  but  I 
have  a  duty  to  perform,  and  I  mean  to  perform  it  with  fidelity,  not 
without  a  sense  of  existing  dangers,  but  not  without  hope.  I  have  a 
part  to  act,  not  for  my  own  security  or  safety,  for  I  am  looking  out 
for  no  fragment  upon  which  to  float  away  from  the  wreck,  if  wreck 
there  must  be,  but  for  the  good  of  the  whole,  and  the  preservation  of 
all;  and  there  is  that  which  will  keep  me  to  my  duty  during  this 
struggle,  whether  the  sun  and  the  stars  shall  appear,  or  shall  not 
appear  for  many  days.  I  speak  to-day  for  the  preservation  of  the 
Union.  "Hear  me  for  my  cause."  I  speak  to.-day,  out  of  a  solicitous 
and  anxious  heart,  for  the  restoration  to  the  country  of  that  quiet 
and  that  harmony  which  make  the  blessings  of  this  Union  so  rich, 
and  so  dear  to  us  all.  These  are  the  topics  that  I  propose  to 
myself  to  discuss;  thes"e  are  the  motives,  and  the  sole  motives, 
that  influence  me  in  the  wish  to  communicate  my  opinions  to  the 
Senate  and  the  country;  and  if  I  can  do  any  thing,  however  little, 
for  the  promotion  of  these  ends,  I  shall  have  accomplished  all  that  I 
expect. 

Mr.  President,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  recur  very  briefly  to  the 
events  which,  equally  sudden  and  extraordinary,  have  brought 
the  country  into  its  present  political  condition.  In  May,  1846,  the 
United  States  declared  war  against  Mexico.  Our  armies,  then  on  the 
frontiers,  entered  the  provinces  of  that  republic,  met  and  defeated 
all  her  troops,  penetrated  her  mountain  passes,  and  occupied  her 
capital.  The  marine  force  of  the  United  States  took  possession  of 
her  forts  and  her  towns,  on  the  Atlantic  and  on  the  Pacific.  In  less 
than  two  years  a  treaty  was  negotiated,  by  which  Mexico  ceded  to 
the  United  States  a  vast  territory,  extending  seven  or  eight  hundred 


6 io  AMERICAN  PROSE 


miles  along  the  shores  of  the  Pacific,  and  reaching  back  over  the 
mountains,  and  across  the  desert,  until  it  joins  the  frontier  of  the 
State  of  Texas.  It  so  happened,  in  the  distracted  and  feeble  state 
of  the  Mexican  government,  that  before  the  declaration  of  war  by  the 
United  States  against  Mexico  had  become  known  in  California,  the 
people  of  California,  under  the  lead  of  American  officers,  overthrew 
the  existing  Mexican  provincial  government,  and  raised  an  inde- 
pendent flag.  When  the  news  arrived  at  San  Francisco  that  war  had 
been  declared  by  the  United  States  against  Mexico,  this  independent 
flag  was  pulled  down,  and  the  stars  and  stripes  of  this  Union  hoisted 
in  its  stead.  So,  Sir,  before  the  war  was  over,  the  forces  of  the  United 
States,  military  and  naval,  had  possession  of  San  Francisco  and 
Upper  California,  and  a  great  rush  of  emigrants  from  various  parts 
of  the  world  took  place  into  California  in  1846  and  1847.  But  now 
behold  another  wonder. 

In  January  of  1848,  a  party  of  Mormons  made  a  discovery  of  an 
extraordinarily  rich  mine  of  gold,  or  rather  of  a  great  quantity  of 
gold,  hardly  proper  to  be  called  a  mine,  for  it  spread  near  the  surface, 
on  the  lower  part  of  the  south,  or  American  branch  of  the  Sacramento. 
They  attempted  to  conceal  their  discovery  for  some  time;  but  soon 
another  discovery  of  gold,  perhaps  of  greater  importance,  was  made, 
on  another  part  of  the  American  branch  of  the  Sacramento,  and  near 
Sutter's  Fort,  as  it  is  called.  The  fame  of  these  discoveries  spread 
far  and  wide.  They  inflamed  more  and  more  the  spirit  of  emigration 
towards  California,  which  had  already  been  excited;  and  adven- 
turers crowded  into  the  country  by  hundreds,  and  flocked  towards 
the  Bay  of  San  Francisco.  This,  as  I  have  said,  took  place  in  the 
winter  and  spring  of  1848.  The  digging  commenced  in  the  spring 
of  that  year,  and  from  that  time  to  this  the  work  of  searching  for 
gold  has  been  prosecuted  with  a  success  not  heretofore  known  in 
the  history  of  this  globe.  You  recollect,  Sir,  how  incredulous  at 
first  the  American  public  was  at  the  accounts  which  reached  us  of 
these  discoveries;  but  we  all  know,  now,  that  these  accounts  received, 
and  continue  to  receive,  daily  confirmation,  and  down  to  the  present 
moment  I  suppose  the  assurance  is  as  strong,  after  the  experience  of 
these  several  months,  of  the  existence  of  deposits  of  gold  apparently 
inexhaustible  in  the  regions  near  San  Francisco,  in  California,  as  it 
was  at  any  period  of  the  earlier  dates  of  the  accounts. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  6ll 


It  so  happened,  Sir,  that  although,  after  the  return  of  peace,  it 
became  a  very  important  subject  for  legislative  consideration  and 
legislative  decision  to  provide  a  proper  territorial  government  for 
California,  yet  differences  of  opinion  between  the  two  houses  of 
Congress  prevented  the  establishment  of  any  such  territorial  govern- 
ment at  the  last  session.  Under  this  state  of  things,  the  inhabitants 
of  California,  already  amounting  to  a  considerable  number,  thought 
it  to  be  their  duty,  in  the  summer  of  last  year,  to  establish  a  local 
government.  Under  the  proclamation  of  General  Riley,  the  people 
chose  delegates  to  a  convention;  and  that  convention  met  at  Mon- 
terey. It  formed  a  constitution  for  the  State  of  California,  which, 
being  referred  to  the  people,  was  adopted  by  them  in  their  primary 
assemblages.  Desirous  of  immediate  connection  with  the  United 
States,  its  Senators  were  appointed  and  representatives  chosen,  who 
have  come  hither,  bringing  with  them  the  authentic  constitution  of 
the  State  of  California;  and  they  now  present  themselves,  asking, 
in  behalf  of  their  constituents,  that  it  may  be  admitted  into  this 
Union  as  one  of  the  United  States.  This  constitution,  Sir,  contains 
an  express  prohibition  of  slavery,  or  involuntary  servitude,  in  the 
State  of  California.  It  is  said,  and  I  suppose  truly,  that,  of  the 
members  who  composed  that  convention,  some  sixteen  were  natives 
of,  and  had  been  residents  in,  the  slave-holding  States,  about  twenty- 
two  were  from  the  non-slave-holding  States,  and  the  remaining  ten 
members  were  either  native  Californians  or  old  settlers  in  that 
country.  This  prohibition  of  slavery,  it  is  said,  was  inserted  with 
entire  unanimity. 

It  is  this  circumstance,  Sir,  the  prohibition  of  slavery,  which 
has  contributed  to  raise,  I  do  not  say  it  has  wholly  raised,  the  dispute 
as  to  the  propriety  of  the  admission  of  California  into  the  Union 
under  this  constitution.  It  is  not  to  be  denied,  Mr.  President,  nobody 
thinks  of  denying,  that,  whatever  reasons  were  assigned  at  the 
commencement  of  the  late  war  with  Mexico,  it  was  prosecuted  for 
the  purpose  of  the  acquisition  of  territory,  and  under  the  alleged 
argument  that  the  cession  of  territory  was  the  only  form  in  which 
proper  compensation  could  be  obtained  by  the  United  States  from 
Mexico,  for  the  various  claims  and  demands  which  the  people  of  this 
country  had  against  that  government.  At  any  rate,  it  will  be  found 
that  President  Folk's  message,  at  the  commencement  of  the  session  of 


612  AMERICAN  PROSE 


December,  1847,  avowed  that  the  war  was  to  be  prosecuted  urtil 
some  acquisition  of  territory  should  be  made.  As  the  acquisition 
was  to  be  south  of  the  line  of  the  United  States,  in  warm  climates 
and  countries,  it  was  naturally,  I  suppose,  expected  by  the  South, 
that  whatever  acquisitions  were  made  in  that  region  would  be  added 
to  the  slave-holding  portion  of  the  United  States.  Very  little  of 
accurate  information  was  possessed  of  the  real  physical  character, 
either  of  California  or  New  Mexico,  and  events  have  not  turned  out 
as  was  expected.  Both  California  and  New  Mexico  are  likely  to 
come  in  as  free  States;  and  therefore  some  degree  of  disappointment 
and  surprise  has  resulted.  In  other  words,  it  is  obvious  that  the 
question  which  has  so  long  harassed  the  country,  and  at  times  very 
seriously  alarmed  the  minds  of  wise  and  good  men,  has  come  upon 
us  for  a  fresh  discussion;  the  question  of  slavery  in  these  United 
States. 

Now,  Sir,  I  propose,  perhaps  at  the  expense  of  some  detail  and 
consequent  detention  of  the  Senate,  to  review  historically  this  ques- 
tion, which,  partly  in  consequence  of  its  own  importance,  and 
partly,  perhaps  mostly,  in  consequence  of  the  manner  in  which  it 
has  been  discussed  in  different  portions  of  the  country,  has  been  a 
source  of  so  much  alienation  and  unkind  feeling  between  them. 

We  all  know,  Sir,  that  slavery  has  existed  in  the  world  from 
time  immemorial.  There  was  slavery,  in  the  earliest  periods  of 
history,  among  the  Oriental  nations.  There  was  slavery  among  the 
Jews;  the  theocratic  government  of  that  people  issued  no  injunction 
against  it.  There  was  slavery  among  the  Greeks;  and  the  ingenious 
philosophy  of  the  Greeks  found,  or  sought  to  find,  a  justification  for 
it  exactly  upon  the  grounds  which  have  been  assumed  for  such  a 
justification  in  this  country;  that  is,  a  natural  and  original  difference 
among  the  races  of  mankind,  and  the  inferiority  of  the  black  or 
colored  race  to  the  white.  The  Greeks  justified  their  system  of 
slavery  upon  that  idea,  precisely.  They  held  the  African  and  some 
of  the  Asiatic  tribes  to  be  inferior  to  the  white  race;  but  they  did 
not  show,  I  think,  by  any  close  process  of  logic,  that  if  this  were  true, 
the  more  intelligent  and  the  stronger  had  therefore  a  right  to  sub- 
jugate the  weaker. 

The  more  manly  philosophy  and  jurisprudence  of  the  Romans 
placed  the  justification  of  slavery  on  entirely  different  grounds. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  613 


The  Roman  jurists,  from  the  first  and  down  to  the  fall  of  the  empire, 
admitted  that  slavery  was  against  the  natural  law,  by  which,  as 
they  maintained,  all  men,  of  whatsoever  clime,  color,  or  capacity, 
were  equal;  but  they  justified  slavery,  first  upon  the  ground  and 
authority  of  the  law  of  nations,  arguing,  and  arguing  truly,  that  at 
that  day  the  conventional  law  of  nations  admitted  that  captives  in 
war,  whose  lives,  according  to  the  notions  of  the  times,  were  at  the 
absolute  disposal  of  the  captors,  might,  in  exchange  for  exemption 
from  death,  be  made  slaves  for  life,  and  that  such  servitude  might 
descend  to  their  posterity.  The  jurists  of  Rome  also  maintained, 
that,  by  the  civil  law,  there  might  be  servitude  or  slavery,  personal 
and  hereditary;  first,  by  the  voluntary  act  of  an  individual,  who 
might  sell  himself  into  slavery;  secondly,  by  his  being  reduced  into  a 
state  of  slavery  by  his  creditors,  in  satisfaction  of  his  debts;  and, 
thirdly,  by  being  placed  in  a  state  of  servitude  or  slavery  for  crime. 
At  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  the  Roman  world  was  full  of 
slaves,  and  I  suppose  there  is  to  be  found  no  injunction  against  that 
relation  between  man  and  man  in  the  teachings  of  the  Gospel 
of  Jesus  Christ  or  of  any  of  his  Apostles.  The  object  of  the 
instruction  imparted  to  mankind  by  the  founder  of  Christianity  was 
to  touch  the  heart,  purify  the  soul,  and  improve  the  lives  of  individual 
men.  That  object  went  directly  to  the  first  fountain  of  all  the 
political  and  all  social  relations  of  the  human  race,  as  well  as  of  ah1 
true  religious  feeling,  the  individual  heart  and  mind  of  man. 

Now,  Sir,  upon  the  general  nature  and  influence  of  slavery  there 
exists  a  wide  difference  of  opinion  between  the  northern  portion  of 
this  country  and  the  southern.  It  is  said  on  the  one  side,  that, 
although  not  the  subject  of  any  injunction  or  direct  prohibition  in 
the  New  Testament,  slavery  is  a  wrong;  that  it  is  founded  merely  hi 
the  right  of  the  strongest;  and  that  it  is  an  oppression,  like  unjust 
wars,  like  all  those  conflicts  by  which  a  powerful  nation  subjects  a 
weaker  to  its  will;  and  that,  in  its  nature,  whatever  may  be  said  of  it 
in  the  modifications  which  have  taken  place,  it  is  not  according  to 
the  meek  spirit  of  the  Gospel.  It  is  not  "kindly  aff ectioned" ;  it 
does  not  "seek  another's,  and  not  its  own";  it  does  not  "let  the 
oppressed  go  free."  These  are  sentiments  that  are  cherished,  and  of 
late  with  greatly  augmented  force,  among  the  people  of  the  Northern 
States.  They  have  taken  hold  of  the  religious  sentiment  of  that 


6i4  AMERICAN  PROSE 


part  of  the  country,  as  they  have,  more  or  less,  taken  hold  of  the 
religious  feelings  of  a  considerable  portion  of  mankind.  The  South, 
upon  the  other  side,  having  been  accustomed  to  this  relation  between 
the  two  races  all  their  lives,  from  their  birth,  having  been  taught, 
in  general,  to  treat  the  subjects  of  this  bondage  with  care  and  kind- 
ness, and  I  believe,  in  general,  feeling  great  kindness  for  them,  have 
not  taken  the  view  of  the  subject  which  I  have  mentioned.  There 
are  thousands  of  religious  men,  with  consciences  as  tender  as  any  of 
their  brethren  at  the  North,  who  do  not  see  the  unlawfulness  of 
slavery;  and  there  are  more  thousands,  perhaps,  that,  whatsover 
they  may  think  of  it  in  its  origin,  and  as  a  matter  depending  upon 
natural  right,  yet  take  things  as  they  are,  and,  finding  slavery  to  be 
an  established  relation  of  the  society  in  which  they  live,  can  see  no 
way  in  which,  let  their  opinions  on  the  abstract  question  be  what 
they  may,  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  present  generation  to  relieve 
themselves  from  this  relation.  And  candor  obliges  me  to  say,  that  I 
believe  they  are  just  as  conscientious,  many  of  them,  and  the  religious 
people,  all  of  them,  as  they  are  at  the  North  who  hold  different 
opinions. 

The  honorable  Senator  from  South  Carolina  the  other  day  alluded 
to  the  separation  of  that  great  religious  community,  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church.  That  separation  was  brought  about  by  differences 
of  opinion  upon  this  particular  subject  of  slavery.  I  felt  great  con- 
cern, as  that  dispute  went  on,  about  the  result.  I  was  in  hopes  that 
the  difference  of  opinion  might  be  adjusted,  because  I  looked  upon 
that  religious  denomination  as  one  of  the  great  props  of  religion  and 
morals  throughout  the  whole  country,  from  Maine  to  Georgia,  and 
westward  to  our  utmost  western  boundary.  The  result  was  against 
my  wishes  and  against  my  hopes.  I  have  read  all  their  proceedings 
and  all  their  arguments;  but  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  was  any  real  ground  for  that  separation; 
in  other  words,  that  any  good  could  be  produced  by  that  separation. 
I  must  say  I  think  there  was  some  want  of  candor  and  charity.  Sir, 
when  a  question  of  this  kind  seizes  on  the  religious  sentiments  of 
mankind,  and  comes  to  be  discussed  in  religious  assemblies  of  the 
clergy  and  laity,  there  is  always  to  be  expected,  or  always  to  be 
feared,  a  great  degree  of  excitement.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  man, 
manifested  by  his  whole  history,  that  religious  disputes  are  apt  tc 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  615 


become  warm  in  proportion  to  the  strength  of  the  convictions  which 
men  entertain  of  the  magnitude  of  the  questions  at  issue.  In  all 
such  disputes,  there  will  sometimes  be  found  men  with  whom  every 
thing  is  absolute;  absolutely  wrong,  or  absolutely  right.  They  see 
the  right  clearly;  they  think  others  ought  so  to  see  it,  and  they  are 
disposed  to  establish  a  broad  line  of  distinction  between  what  is 
right  and  what  is  wrong.  They  are  not  seldom  willing  to  establish 
that  line  upon  their  own  convictions  of  truth  and  justice,  and  are 
ready  to  mark  and  guard  it  by  placing  along  it  a  series  of  dogmas,  as 
lines  of  boundary  on  the  earth's  surface  are  marked  by  posts  and 
stones.  There  are  men  who,  with  clear  perceptions,  as  they  think, 
of  their  own  duty,  do  not  see  how  too  eager  a  pursuit  of  one  duty  may 
involve  them  in  the  violation  of  others,  or  how  too  warm  an  embrace- 
ment  of  one  truth  may  lead  to  a  disregard  of  other  truths  equally 
important.  As  I  heard  it  stated  strongly,  not  many  days  ago, 
these  persons  are  disposed  to  mount  upon  some  particular  duty, 
as  upon  a  war-horse,  and  to  drive  furiously  on  and  upon  and  over  all 
other  duties  that  may  stand  in  the  way.  There  are  men  who,  in 
reference  to  disputes  of  that  sort,  are  of  opinion  that  human  duties 
may  be  ascertained  with  the  exactness  of  mathematics.  They  deal 
with  morals  as  with  mathematics;  and  they  think  what  is  right  may 
be  distinguished  from  what  is  wrong  with  the  precision  of  an  algebraic 
equation.  They  have,  therefore,  none  too  much  charity  towards 
others  who  differ  from  them.  They  are  apt,  too,  to  think  that  nothing 
is  good  but  what  is  perfect,  and  that  there  are  no  compromises  or 
modifications  to  be  made  in  consideration  of  difference  of  opinion  or 
in  deference  to  other  men's  judgment.  If  their  perspicacious  vision 
enables  them  to  detect  a  spot  on  the  face  of  the  sun,  they  think  that 
a  good  reason  why  the  sun  should  be  struck  down  from  heaven. 
They  prefer  the  chance  of  running  into  utter  darkness  to  living  in 
heavenly  light,  if  that  heavenly  light  be  not  absolutely  without  any 
imperfection.  There  are  impatient  men;  too  impatient  always  to 
give  heed  to  the  admonition  of  St.  Paul,  that  we  are  nof  to  "do 
evil  that  good  may  come" ;  too  impatient  to  wait  for  the  slow  progress 
of  moral  causes  in  the  improvement  of  mankind.  They  do  not  remem- 
ber that  the  doctrines  and  the  miracles  of  Jesus  Christ  have,  in 
eighteen  hundred  years,  converted  only  a  small  portion  of  the  human 
race;  and  among  the  nations  that  are  converted  to  Christianity, 


616  AMERICAN  PROSE 


they  forget  how  many  vices  and  crimes,  public  and  private,  still 
prevail,  and  that  many  of  them,  public  crimes  especially,  which  are 
so  clearly  offences  against  the  Christian  religion,  pass  without  ex- 
citing particular  indignation.  Thus  wars  are  waged,  and  unjust  wars. 
I  do  not  deny  that  there  may  be  just  wars.  There  certainly  are; 
but  it  was  the  remark  of  an  eminent  person,  not  many  years  ago,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  that  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  reproaches 
to  human  nature  that  wars  are  sometimes  just.  The  defence  of 
nations  sometimes  causes  a  just  war  against  the  injustice  of  other 
nations.  In  this  state  of  sentiment  upon  the  general  nature  of  slavery 
lies  the  cause  of  a  great  part  of  those  unhappy  divisions,  exaspera- 
tions, and  reproaches  which  find  vent  and  support  in  different  parts 
of  the  Union. 

But  we  must  view  things  as  they  are.  Slavery  does  exist  in  the 
United  States.  It  did  exist  in  the  States  before  the  adoption  of  this 
Constitution,  and  at  that  time.  Let  us,  therefore,  consider  for  a 
moment  what  was  the  state  of  sentiment,  North  and  South,  in 
regard  to  slavery,  at  the  time  this  Constitution  was  adopted.  A 
remarkable  change  has  taken  place  since;  but  what  did  the  wise 
and  great  men  of  all  parts  of  the  country  think  of  slavery  then? 
In  what  estimation  did  they  hold  it  at  the  time  when  this  Constitution 
was  adopted?  It  will  be  found,  Sir,  if  we  will  carry  ourselves  by 
historical  research  back  to  that  day,  and  ascertain  men's  opinions 
by  authentic  records  still  existing  among  us,  that  there  was  then  no 
diversity  of  opinion  between  the  North  and  the  South  upon  the 
subject  of  slavery.  It  will  be  found  that  both  parts  of  the  country 
held  it  equally  an  evil,  a  moral  and  political  evil.  It  will  not  be 
found  that,  either  at  the  North  or  at  the  South,  there  was  much, 
though  there  was  some,  invective  against  slavery  as  inhuman  and 
cruel.  The  great  ground  of  objection  to  it  was  political;  that  it  weak- 
ened the  social  fabric;  that,  taking  the  place  of  free  labor,  society 
became  less  strong  and  labor  less  productive;  and  therefore  we  find 
from  all  the  eminent  men  of  the  time  the  clearest  expression  of  their 
opinion  that  slavery  is  an  evil.  They  ascribed  its  existence  here, 
not  without  truth,  and  not  without  some  acerbity  of  temper  and 
force  of  language,  to  the  injurious  policy  of  the  mother  country, 
who,  to  favor  the  navigator,  had  entailed  these  evils  upon  the  Col- 
onies. I  need  hardly  refer,  Sir,  particularly  to  the  publications  of 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  617 


the  day.  They  are  matters  of  history  on  the  record.  The  eminent 
men,  the  most  eminent  men,  and  nearly  all  the  conspicuous  politicians 
of  the  South,  held  the  same  sentiments;  that  slavery  was  an  evil,  a 
blight,  a  scourge,  and  a  curse.  There  are  no  terms  of  reprobation  of 
slavery  so  vehement  in  the  North  at  that  day  as  in  the  South.  The 
North  was  not  so  much  excited  against  it  as  the  South;  and  the  reason 
is,  I  suppose,  that  there  was  much  less  of  it  at  the  North,  and  the 
people  did  not  see,  or  think  they  saw,  the  evils  so  prominently  as 
they  were  seen,  or  thought  to  be  seen,  at  the  South. 

Then,  Sir,  when  this  Constitution  was  framed,  this  was  the  light 
in  which  the  Federal  Convention  viewed  it.  That  body  reflected 
the  judgment  and  sentiments  of  the  great  men  of  the  South.  A 
member  of  the  other  house,  whom  I  have  not  the  honor  to  know, 
has,  in  a  recent  speech,  collected  extracts  from  these  public  docu- 
ments. They  prove  the  truth  of  what  I  am  saying,  and  the  question 
then  was,  how  to  deal  with  it,  and  how  to  deal  with  it  as  'an  evil. 
They  came  to  this  general  result.  They  thought  that  slavery  could 
not  be  continued  in  the  country  if  the  importation  of  slaves  were  made 
to  cease,  and  therefore  they  provided  that,  after  a  certain  period, 
the  importation  might  be  prevented  by  the  act  of  the  new  government. 
The  period  of  twenty  years  was  proposed  by  some  gentleman  from 
the  North,  I  think,  and  many  members  of  the  Convention  from  the 
South  opposed  it  as  being  too  long.  Mr.  Madison  especially  was 
somewhat  warm  against  it.  He  said  it  would  bring  too  much  of  this 
mischief  into  the  country  to  allow  the  importation  of  slaves  for  such  a 
period.  Because  we  must  take  along  with  us,  in  the  whole  of  this 
discussion,  when  we  are  considering  the  sentiments  and  opinions  in 
which  the  constitutional  provision  originated,  that  the  conviction 
of  all  men  was,  that,  if  the  importation  of  slaves  ceased,  the  white 
race  would  multiply  faster  than  the  black  race,  and  that  slavery 
would  therefore  gradually  wear  out  and  expire.  It  may  not  be 
improper  here  to  allude  to  that,  I  had  almost  said,  celebrated  opinion 
of  Mr.  Madison.  You  observe,  Sir,  that  the  term  slave,  or  slavery,  is 
not  used  in  the  Constitution.  The  Constitution  does  not  require 
that  "fugitive  slaves"  shall  be  delivered  up.  It  requires  that  per- 
sons held  to  service  in  one  State,  and  escaping  into  another,  shall  be 
delivered  up.  Mr.  Madison  opposed  the  introduction  of  the  term 
slave,  or  slavery,  into  the  Constitution;  for  he  said  that  he  did  not 


618  AMERICAN  PROSE 


wish  to  see  it  recognized  by  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
of  America  that  there  could  be  property  in  men. 

Now,  Sir,  all  this  took  place  in  the  Convention  in  1787;  but 
connected  with  this,  concurrent  and  contemporaneous,  is  another 
important  transaction,  not  sufficiently  attended  to.  The  Convention 
for  framing  this  Constitution  assembled  in  Philadelphia  in  May,  and 
sat  until  September,  1787.  During  all  that  time  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States  was  in  session  at  New  York.  It  was  a  matter  of  design, 
as  we  know,  that  the  Convention  should  not  assemble  in  the  same 
city  where  Congress  was  holding  its  sessions.  Almost  all  the  public 
men  of  the  country,  therefore,  of  distinction  and  eminence,  were  in 
one  or  the  other  of  these  two  assemblies;  and  I  think  it  happened, 
in  some  instances,  that  the  same  gentlemen  were  members  of  both 
bodies.  If  I  mistake  not,  such  was  the  case  with  Mr.  Rufus  King, 
then  a  member  of  Congress  from  Massachusetts.  Now,  at  the  very 
time  when  the  Convention  in  Philadelphia  was  framing  this  Consti- 
tution, the  Congress  in  New  York  was  framing  the  Ordinance  of 
1787,  for  the  organization  and  government  of  the  territory  northwest 
of  the  Ohio.  They  passed  that  Ordinance  on  the  i3th  of  July,  1787, 
at  New  York,  the  very  month,  perhaps  the  very  day,  on  which  these 
questions  about  the  importation  of  slaves  and  the  character  of  slavery 
were  debated  in  the  Convention  at  Philadelphia.  So  far  as  we  can 
now  learn,  there  was  a  perfect  concurrence  of  opinion  between  these 
two  bodies;  and  it  resulted  in  this  Ordinance  of  1787,  excluding 
slavery  from  all  the  territory  over  which  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States  had  jurisdiction,  and  that  was  all  the  territory  northwest  of 
the  Ohio.  Three  years  before,  Virginia  and  other  States  had  made  a 
cession  of  that  great  territory  to  the  United  States;  and  a  most 
munificent  act  it  was.  I  never  reflect  upon  it  without  a  disposition 
to  do  honor  and  justice,  and  justice  would  be  the  highest  honor,  to 
Virginia,  for  the  cession  of  her  northwestern  territory.  I  will  say, 
Sir,  it  is  one  of  her  fairest  claims  to  the  respect  and  gratitude  of  the 
country,  and  that,  perhaps,  it  is  only  second  to  that  other  claim 
which  belongs  to  her,  that  from  her  counsels,  and  from  the  intel- 
ligence and  patriotism  of  her  leading  statesmen,  proceeded  the  first 
idea  put  into  practice  of  the  formation  of  a  general  constitution  of 
the  United  States.  The  Ordinance  of  1787  applied  to  the  whole  ter- 
ritory over  which  the  Congress  of  the  United  States  had  jurisdiction. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  619 


It  was  adopted  two  years  before  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  went  into  operation;  because  the  Ordinance  took  effect  im- 
mediately on  its  passage,  while  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States, 
having  been  framed,  was  to  be  sent  to  the  States  to  be  adopted  by 
their  Conventions;  and  then  a  government  was  to  be  organized 
under  it.  This  Ordinance,  then,  was  in  operation  and  force  when 
the  Constitution  was  adopted,  and  the  government  put  in  motion, 
in  April,  1789. 

Mr.  President,  three  things  are  quite  clear  as  historical  truths. 
One  is,  that  there  was  an  expectation  that,  on  the  ceasing  of  the  im- 
portation of  slaves  from  Africa,  slavery  would  begin  to  run  out  here. 
That  was  hoped  and  expected.  Another  is,  that,  as  far  as  there  was 
any  power  in  Congress  to  prevent  the  spread  of  slavery  in  the  United 
States,  that  power  was  executed  in  the  most  absolute  manner,  and 
to  the  fullest  extent.  An  honorable  member,  whose  health  does  not 
allow  him  to  be  here  to-day — 

A  SENATOR.    He  is  here. 

I  am  very  happy  to  hear  that  he  is;  may  he  long  be  here,  and  in 
the  enjoyment  of  health  to  serve  his  country!  The  honorable  member 
said,  the  other  day,  that  he  considered  this  Ordinance  as  the  first  in 
the  series  of  measures  calculated  to  enfeeble  the  South,  and  deprive 
them  of  their  just  participation  in  the  benefits  and  privileges  of  this 
government.  He  says,  very  properly,  that  it  was  enacted  under  the 
old  Confederation,  and  before  this  Constitution  went  into  effect;  but, 
my  present  purpose  is  only  to  say,  Mr.  President,  that  it  was  estab- 
lished with  the  entire  and  unanimous  concurrence  of  the  whole  South. 
Why,  there  it  stands!  The  vote  of  every  State  in  the  Union  was 
unanimous  in  favor  of  the  Ordinance,  with  the  exception  of  a  single 
individual  vote,  and  that  individual  vote  was  given  by  a  Northern 
man.  This  Ordinance  prohibiting  slavery  for  ever  northwest  of  the 
Ohio  has  the  hand  and  seal  of  every  Southern  member  in  Congress. 
It  was  therefore  no  aggression  of  the  North  on  the  South.  The 
other  and  third  clear  historical  truth  is,  that  the  Convention  meant 
to  leave  slavery  in  the  States  as  they  found  it,  entirely  under  the 
authority  and  control  of  the  States  themselves. 

This  was  the  state  of  things,  Sir,  and  this  the  state  of  opinion, 
under  which  those  very  important  matters  were  arranged,  and  those 


620  AMERICAN  PROSE 


three  important  things  done;  that  is,  the  establishment  of  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States  with  a  recognition  of  slavery  as  it 
existed  in  the  States;  the  establishment  of  the  ordinance  for  the 
government  of  the  -Northwestern  Territory,  prohibiting,  to  the  full 
extent  of  all  territory  owned  by  the  United  States,  the  introduction 
of  slavery  into  that  territory,  while  leaving  to  the  States  all  power 
over  slavery  in  their  own  limits;  and  creating  a  power,  in  the  new 
government,  to  put  an  end  to  the  importation  of  slaves,  after  a 
limited  period.  There  was  entire  coincidence  and  concurrence  of 
sentiment  between  the  North  and  the  South,  upon  all  these  questions, 
at  the  period  of  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution.  But  opinions,  Sir, 
have  changed,  greatly  changed;  changed  North  and  changed  South. 
Slavery  is  not  regarded  in  the  South  now  as  it  was  then.  I  see  an 
honorable  member  of  this  body  paying  me  the  honor  of  listening  to 
my  remarks;  he  brings  to  my  mind,  Sir,  freshly  and  vividly,  what  I 
have  learned  of  his  great  ancestor,  so  much  distinguished  in  his  day 
and  generation,  so  worthy  to  be  succeeded  by  so  worthy  a  grandson, 
and  of  the  sentiments  he  expressed  in  the  Convention  in  Philadelphia. 
Here  we  may  pause.  There  was,  if  not  an  entire  unanimity,  a 
general  concurrence  of  sentiment  running  through  the  whole  com- 
munity, and  especially  entertained  by  the  eminent  men  of  all  parts 
of  the  country.  But  soon  a  change  began,  at  the  North  and  the  South, 
and  a  difference  of  opinion  showed  itself;  the  North  growing  much 
more  warm  and  strong  against  slavery,  and  the  South  growing 
much  more  warm  and  strong  in  its  support.  Sir,  there  is  no  genera- 
tion of  mankind  whose  opinions  are  not  subject  to  be  influenced  by 
what  appear  to  them  to  be  their  present  emergent  and  exigent 
interests.  I  impute  to  the  South  no  particularly  selfish  view  in  the 
change  which  has  come  over  her.  I  impute  to  her  certainly  no  dis- 
honest view.  All  that  has  happened  has  been  natural.  It  has 
followed  those  causes  which  always  influence  the  human  mind  and 
operate  upon  it.  What,  then,  have  been  the  causes  which  have 
created  so  new  a  feeling  in  favor  of  slavery  in  the  South,  which  have 
changed  the  whole  nomenclature  of  the  South  on  that  subject,  so 
that,  from  being  thought  of  and  described  in  the  terms  I  have  men- 
tioned and  will  not  repeat,  it  has  now  become  an  institution,  a 
cherished  institution,  in  that  quarter;  no  evil,  no  scourge,  but  a 
great  religious,  social,  and  moral  blessing,  as  I  think  I  have  heard  it 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  621 


latterly  spoken  of  ?  I  suppose  this,  Sir,  is  owing  to  the  rapid  growth 
and  sudden  extension  of  the  COTTON  plantations  of  the  South.  So 
far  as  any  motive  consistent  with  honor,  justice,  and  general  judg- 
ment could  act,  it  was  the  COTTON  interest  that  gave  a  new  desire  to 
promote  slavery,  to  spread  it,  and  to  use  its  labor.  I  again  say  that 
this  change  was  produced  by  causes  which  must  always  produce  like 
effects.  The  whole  interest  of  the  South  became  connected,  more  or 
less,  with  the  extension  of  slavery.  If  we  look  back  to  the  history  of 
the  commerce  of  this  country  in  the  early  years  of  this  government, 
what  were  our  exports  ?  Cotton  was  hardly,  or  but  to  a  very  limited 
extent,  known.  In  1791  the  first  parcel  of  cotton  of  the  growth  of 
the  United  States  was  exported,  and  amounted  only  to  19,200  pounds. 
It  has  gone  on  increasing  rapidly,  until  the  whole  crop  may  now, 
perhaps,  in  a  season  of  great  product  and  high  prices,  amount  to  a 
hundred  millions  of  dollars.  In  the  years  I  have  mentioned,  there 
was-  more  of  wax,  more  of  indigo,  more  of  rice,  more  of  almost  every 
article  of  export  from  the  South,  than  of  cotton.  When  Mr.  Jay 
negotiated  the  treaty  of  1794  with  England,  it  is  evident  from  the 
twelfth  article  of  the  treaty,  which  was  suspended  by  the  Senate,  that 
he  did  not  know  that  cotton  was  exported  at  all  from  the  United 
States. 

Well,  Sir,  we  know  what  followed.  The  age  of  cotton  became 
the  golden  age  of  our  Southern  brethren.  It  gratified  their  desire 
for  improvement  and  accumulation,  at  the  same  time  that  it  excited 
it.  The  desire  grew  by  what  it  fed  upon,  and  there  soon  came  to  be 
an  eagerness  for  other  territory,  a  new  area  or  new  areas  for  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  cotton  crop;  and  measures  leading  to  this  result  were 
brought  about  rapidly,  one  after  another,  under  the  lead  of  Southern 
men  at  the  head  of  the  government,  they  having  a  majority  in  both 
branches  of  Congress  to  accomplish  their  ends.  The  honorable  mem- 
ber from  South  Carolina  observed  that  there  has  been  a  majority 
all  along  in  favor  of  the  North.  If  that  be  true,  Sir,  the  North  has 
acted  either  very  liberally  and  kindly,  or  very  weakly;  for  they  never 
exercised  that  majority  efficiently  five  times  in  the  history  of  the 
government,  when  a  division  or  trial  of  strength  arose.  Never. 
Whether  they  were  out-generalled,  or  whether  it  was  owing  to  other 
causes,  I  shall  not  stop  to  consider;  but  no  man  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  the  Union  can  deny  that  the  general  lead  in  the  politics 


622  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  the  country,  for  three  fourths  of  the  period  that  has  elapsed  since 
the  adoption  of  the  Constitution,  has  been  a  Southern  lead. 

In  1802,  in  pursuit  of  the  idea  of  opening  a  new  cotton  region, 
the  United  States  obtained  a  cession  from  Georgia  of  the  whole  of 
her  western  territory,  now  embracing  the  rich  and  growing  States  of 
Alabama  and  Mississippi.  In  1803  Louisiana  was  purchased  from 
France,  out  of  which  the  States  of  Louisiana,  Arkansas,  and  Missouri 
have  been  framed,  as  slave-holding  States.  In  1819  the  cession  of 
Florida  was  made,  bringing  in  another  region  adapted  to  cultivation 
by  slaves.  Sir,  the  honorable  member  from  South  Carolina  thought 
he  saw  in  certain  operations  of  the  government,  such  as  the  manner 
of  collecting  the  revenue,  and  the  tendency  of  measures  calculated 
to  promote  emigration  into  the  country,  what  accounts  for  the  more 
rapid  growth  of  the  North  than  the  South.  He  ascribes  that  more 
rapid  growth,  not  to  the  operation  of  time,  but  to  the  system  of 
government  and  administration  established  under  this  Constitution. 
That  is  matter  of  opinion.  To  a  certain  extent  it  may  be  true;  but 
it  does  seem  to  me  that,  if  any  operation  of  the  government  can  be 
shown  in  any  degree  to  have  promoted  the  population,  and  growth, 
and  wealth  of  the  North,  it  is  much  more  sure  that  there  are  sundry 
important  and  distinct  operations  of  the  government,  about  which 
no  man  can  doubt,  tending  to  promote,  and  which  absolutely  have 
promoted,  the  increase  of  the  slave  interest  and  the  slave  territory 
of  the  South.  It  was  not  time  that  brought  in  Louisiana;  it  was  the 
act  of  men.  It  was  not  time  that  brought  in  Florida;  it  was  the  act 
of  men.  And  lastly,  Sir,  to  complete  those  acts  of  legislation  which 
have  contributed  so  much  to  enlarge  the  area  of  the  institution 
of  slavery,  Texas,  great  and  vast  and  illimitable  Texas,  was  added  to 
the  Union  as  a  slave  State  in  1845;  and  that,  Sir,  pretty  much  closed 
the  whole  chapter,  and  settled  the  whole  account. 

That  closed  the  whole  chapter  and  settled  the  whole  account, 
because  the  annexation  of  Texas,  upon  the  conditions  and  under  the 
guaranties  upon  which  she  was  admitted,  did  not  leave  within  the 
control  of  this  government  an  acre  of  land,  capable  of  being  culti- 
vated by  slave  labor,  between  this  Capitol  and  the  Rio  Grande  or 
the  Nueces,  or  whatever  is  the  proper  boundary  of  Texas;  not  an 
acre.  From  that  moment,  the  whole  country,  from  this  place  to  the 
western  boundary  of  Texas,  was  fixed,  pledged,  fastened,  decided,  to 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  623 


be  slave  territory  for  ever,  by  the  solemn  guaranties  of  law.  And  I 
now  say,  Sir,  as  the  proposition  upon  which  I  stand  this  day,  and 
upon  the  truth  and  firmness  of  which  I  intend  to  act  until  it  is  over- 
thrown, that  there  is  not  at  this  moment  within  the  United  States, 
or  any  territory  of  the  United  States,  a  single  foot  of  land,  the  charac- 
ter of  which,  in  regard  to  its  being  free  territory  or  slave  territory,  is 
not  fixed  by  some  law,  and  some  irrepealable  law,  beyond  the  power 
of  the  action  of  the  government.  Is  it  not  so  with  respect  to  Texas  ? 
It  is  most  manifestly  so.  The  honorable  member  from  South  Caro- 
lina, at  the  time  of  the  admission  of  Texas,  held  an  important  post 
in  the  executive  department  of  the  government ;  he  was  Secretary  of 
State.  Another  eminent  person  of  great  activity  and  adroitness  in 
affairs,  I  mean  the  late  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  was  a  conspicuous 
member  of  this  body,  and  took  the  lead  in  the  business  of  annexation, 
in  cooperation  with  the  Secretary  of  State;  and  I  must  say  that  they 
did  their  business  faithfully  and  thoroughly;  there  was  no  botch  left 
in  it.  They  rounded  it  off,  and  made  as  close  joiner-work  as  ever 
was  exhibited.  Resolutions  of  annexation  were  brought  into  Congress, 
fitly  joined  together,  compact,  efficient,  conclusive  upon  the  great 
object  which  they  had  in  view,  and  those  resolutions  passed. 

Allow  me  to  read  a  part  of  these  resolutions.  It  is  the  third 
clause  of  the  second  section  of  the  resolution  of  the  ist  of  March, 
1845,  for  the  admission  of  Texas,  which  applies  to  this  part  of  the 
case  That  clause  is  as  follows: — 

"New  States,  of  convenient  size,  not  exceeding  four  in  number,  in 
addition  to  said  State  of  Texas,  and  having  sufficient  population,  may 
hereafter,  by  the  consent  of  said  State,  be  formed  out  of  the  territory  thereof, 
which  shall  be  entitled  to  admission  under  the  provisions  of  the  Federal 
Constitution.  And  such  States  as  may  be  formed  out  of  that  portion  of 
said  territory  lying  south  of  thirty-six  degrees  thirty  minutes  north  latitude, 
commonly  known  as  the  Missouri  Compromise  line,  shall  be  admitted  into 
the  Union  with  or  without  slavery,  as  the  people  of  each  State  asking  ad- 
mission may  desire;  and  in  such  State  or  States  as  shall  be  formed  out  of 
said  territory  north  of  said  Missouri  Compromise  line,  slavery  or  involuntary 
servitude  (except  for  crime)  shall  be  prohibited." 

Now,  what  is  here  stipulated,  enacted,  and  secured  ?  It  is,  that 
all  Texas  south  of  36°  30',  which  is  nearly  the  whole  of  it,  shall  be 
admitted  into  the  Union  as  a  slave  State.  It  was  a  slave  State,  and 


624  AMERICAN  PROSE 


therefore  came  in  as  a  slave  State;  and  the  guaranty  is,  that  new 
States  shall  be  made  out  of  it,  to  the  number  of  four,  in  addition  to 
the  State  then  in  existence  and  admitted  at  that  time  by  these 
resolutions,  and  that  such  States  as  are  formed  out  of  that  portion  of 
Texas  lying  south  of  36°  30'  may  come  in  as  slave  States.  I  know  no 
form  of  legislation  which  can  strengthen  this.  I  know  no  mode  of 
recognition  that  can  add  a  tittle  of  weight  to  it.  I  listened  respect- 
fully to  the  resolutions  of  my  honorable  friend  from  Tennessee. 
He  proposed  to  recognize  that  stipulation  with  Texas.  But  any  addi- 
tional recognition  would  weaken  the  force  of  it;  because  it  stands 
here  on  the  ground  of  a  contract,  a  thing  done  for  a  consideration. 
It  is  a  law  founded  on  a  contract  with  Texas,  and  designed  to  carry 
that  contract  into  effect.  A  recognition  now,  founded  not  on  any 
consideration  or  any  contract,  would  not  be  so  strong  as  it  now  stands 
on  the  face  of  the  resolution.  I  know  no  way,  I  candidly  confess,  in 
which  this  government,  acting  in  good  faith,  as  I  trust  it  always  will, 
can  relieve  itself  from  that  stipulation  and  pledge,  by  any  honest 
course  of  legislation  whatever.  And  therefore,  I  say  again,  that,  so 
far  as  Texas  is  concerned,  in  the  whole  of  that  State  south  of  36°  30', 
which,  I  suppose,  embraces  all  the  territory  capable  of  slave  culti- 
vation, there  is  no  land,  not  an  aCre,  the  character  of  which  is  not 
established  by  law;  a  law  which  cannot  be  repealed  without  the 
violation  of  a  contract,  and  plain  disregard  of  the  public  faith. 

I  hope,  Sir,  it  is  now  apparent  that  my  proposition,  so  far  as  it 
respects  Texas,  has  been  maintained,  and  that  the  provision  in  this 
article  is  clear  and  absolute;  and  it  has  been  well  suggested  by  my 
friend  from  Rhode  Island,  that  that  part  of  Texas  which  lies  north  of 
36°  30'  of  north  latitude,  and  which  may  be  formed  into  free  States, 
is  dependent,  in  like  manner,  upon  the  consent  of  Texas,  herself  a 
slave  State. 

Now,  Sir,  how  came  this  ?  How  came  it  to  pass  that  within  these 
walls,  where  it  is  said  by  the  honorable  member  from  South  Carolina 
that  the  free  States  have  always  had  a  majority,  this  resolution  of 
annexation,  such  as  I  have  described  it,  obtained  a  majority  in  both 
houses  of  Congress?  Sir,  it  obtained  that  majority  by  the  great 
number  of  Northern  votes  added  to  the  entire  Southern  vote,  or,  at 
least  nearly  the  whole  of  the  Southern  vote.  The  aggregate  was 
made  up  of  Northern  and  Southern  votes.  In  the  House  of  Repre- 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  625 


sentatives  there  were  about  eighty  Southern  votes  and  about  fifty 
Northern  votes  for  the  admission  of  Texas.  In  the  Senate  the  vote 
for  the  admission  of  Texas  was  twenty-seven,  and  twenty-five  against 
it;  and  of  those  twenty-seven  votes,  constituting  the  majority,  no 
less  than  thirteen  came  from  the  free  States,  and  four  of  them  were 
from  New  England.  The  whole  of  these  thirteen  Senators,  consti- 
tuting within  a  fraction,  you  see,  one  half  of  all  the  votes  in  this 
body  for  the  admission  of  this  immeasurable  extent  of  slave  territory, 
were  sent  here  by  free  States. 

Sir,  there  is  not  so  remarkable  a  chapter  in  our  history  of  political 
events,  political  parties,  and  political  men  as  is  afforded  by  this 
admission  of  a  new  slave-holding  territory,  so  vast  that  a  bird  cannot 
fly  over  it  in  a  week.  New  England,  as  I  have  said,  with  some  of  her 
own  votes,  supported  this  measure.  Three  fourths  of  the  votes  of 
liberty-loving  Connecticut  were  given  for  it  in  the  other  house,  and 
one  half  here.  There  was  one  vote  for  it  from  Maine,  but,  I  am  happy 
to  say,  not  the  vote  of  the  honorable  member  who  addressed  the 
Senate  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  who  was  then  a  Representative 
from  Maine  in  the  House  of  Representatives;  but  there  was  one 
vote  from  Maine,  ay,  and  there  was  one  vote  for  it  from  Massachu- 
setts, given  by  a  gentleman  then  representing,  and  now  living  in,  the 
district  in  which  the  prevalence  of  Free  Soil  sentiment  for  a  couple 
of  years  or  so  has  defeated  the  choice  of  any  member  to  represent  it 
in  Congress.  Sir,  that  body  of  Northern  and  Eastern  men  who  gave 
those  votes  at  that  time  are  now  seen  taking  upon  themselves,  in 
the  nomenclature  of  politics,  the  appellation  of  the  Northern  De- 
mocracy. They  undertook  to  wield  the  destinies  of  this  empire,  if  I 
may  give  that  name  to  a  republic,  and  their  policy  was,  and  they 
persisted  in  it,  to  bring  into  this  country  and  under  this  government 
all  the  territory  they  could.  They  did  it,  in  the  case  of  Texas,  under 
pledges,  absolute  pledges,  to  the  slave  interest,  and  they  afterwards 
lent  their  aid  in  bringing  in  these  new  conquests,  to  take  their  chance 
for  slavery  or  freedom.  My  honorable  friend  from  Georgia,  in 
March,  1847,  moved  the  Senate  to  declare  that  the  war  ought  not  to 
be  prosecuted  for  the  conquest  of  territory,  or  for  the  dismemberment 
of  Mexico.  The  whole  of  the  Northern  Democracy  voted  against  it. 
He  did  not  get  a  vote  from  them.  It  suited  the  patriotic  and  elevated 
sentiments  of  the  Northern  Democracy  to  bring  in  a  world  from 


626  AMERICAN  PROSE 


among  the  mountains  and  valleys  of  California  and  New  Mexico,  or 
any  other  part  of  Mexico,  and  then  quarrel  about  it;  to  bring  it  in, 
and  then  endeavor  to  put  upon  it  the  saving  grace  of  the  Wilmot 
Proviso.  There  were  two  eminent  and  highly  respectable  gentlemen 
from  the  North,  and  East,  then  leading  gentlemen  in  the 
Senate,  (I  refer,  and  I  do  so  with  entire  respect,  for  I  entertain 
for  both  of  those  gentlemen,  in  general,  high  regard,  to  Mr.  Dix  of 
New  York  and  Mr.  Niles  of  Connecticut,)  who  both  voted  for  the 
admission  of  Texas.  They  would  not  have  that  vote  any  other  way 
than  as  it  stood;  and  they  would  have  it  as  it  did  stand.  I  speak  of 
the  vote  upon  the  annexation  of  Texas.  Those  two  gentlemen  would 
have  the  resolution  of  annexation  just  as  it  is,  without  amendment; 
and  they  voted  for  it  just  as  it  is,  and  their  eyes  were  all  open  to  its 
true  character.  The  honorable  member  from  South  Carolina  who 
addressed  us  the  other  day  was  then  Secretary  of  State.  His  corre- 
spondence with  Mr.  Murphy,  the  Charge  d'Affaires  of  the  United 
States  in  Texas,  had  been  published.  That  correspondence  was  all 
before  those  gentlemen,  and  the  Secretary  had  the  boldness  and 
candor  to  avow  hi  that  correspondence,  that  the  great  object  sought 
by  the  annexation  of  Texas  was  to  strengthen  the  slave  interest  of 

the  South.    Why,  Sir,  he  said  so  in  so  many  words 

MR.  CALHOUN.  Will  the  honorable  Senator  permit  me  to  interrupt 
him  for  a  moment  ? 

Certainly. 

MR.  CALHOUN.  I  am  very  reluctant  to  interrupt  the  honorable  gen- 
tleman; but,  upon  a  point  of  so  much  importance,  I  deem  it  right  to  put 
myself  rectus  in  curia.  I  did  not  put  it  upon  the  ground  assumed  by  the 
Senator.  I  put  it  upon  this  ground:  that  Great  Britain  had  announced  to 
this  country,  in  so  many  words,  that  her  object  was  to  abolish  slavery  in 
Texas,  and,  through  Texas,  to  accomplish  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the 
United  States  and  the  world.  The  ground  I  put  it  on  was,  that  it  would 
make  an  exposed  frontier,  and,  if  Great  Britain  succeeded  m  her  object,  it 
would  be  impossible  that  that  frontier  could  be  secured  against  the  aggres- 
sions of  the  Abolitionists;  and  that  this  government  was  bound,  under  the 
guaranties  of  the  Constitution,  to  protect  us  against  such  a  state  of  things. 

That  comes,  I  suppose,  Sir,  to  exactly  the  same  thing.  It  was, 
that  Texas  must  be  obtained  for  the  security  of  the  slave  interest 
of  the  South. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  627 


MR.  CALHOUN.    Another  view  is  very  distinctly  given. 

That  was  the  object  set  forth  in  the  correspondence  of  a  worthy 
gentleman  not  now  living,  who  preceded  the  honorable  member 
from  South  Carolina  in  the  Department  of  State.  There  repose  on 
the  files  of  the  Department,  as  I  have  occasion  to  know,  strong  letters 
from  Mr.  Upshur  to  the  United  States  minister  in  England,  and  I 
believe  there  are  some  to  the  same  minister  from  the  honorable 
Senator  himself,  asserting  to  this  effect  the  sentiments  of  this  gov- 
ernment; namely,  that  Great  Britain  was  expected  not  to  interfere 
to  take  Texas  out  of  the  hands  of  its  then  existing  government  and 
make  it  a  free  country.  But  my  argument,  my  suggestion,  is  this; 
that  those  gentlemen  who  composed  the  Northern  Democracy,  when 
Texas  was  brought  into  the  Union  saw  clearly  that  it  was  brought 
in  as  a  slave  country,  and  brought  in  for  the  purpose  of  being  main- 
tained as  slave  territory,  to  the  Greek  Kalends.  I  rather  think  the 
honorable  gentleman  who  was  then  Secretary  of  State  might,  in 
some  of  his  correspondence  with  Mr.  Murphy,  have  suggested  that 
it  was  not  expedient  to  say  too  much  about  this  object,  lest  it  should 
create  some  alarm.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Murphy  wrote  to  him  that 
England  was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  constitution  of  Texas,  because 
it  was  a  constitution  establishing  slavery;  and  that  what  the  United 
States  had  to  do  was  to  aid  the  people  of  Texas  in  upholding  their 
constitution;  but  that  nothing  should  be  said  which  should  offend 
the  fanatical  men  of  the  North.  But,  Sir,  the  honorable  member 
did  avow  this  object  himself,  openly,  boldly,  and  manfully;  he  did 
not  disguise  his  conduct  or  his  motives. 

MR.  CALHOUN.    Never,  never. 

What  he  means  he  is  very  apt  to  say. 

MR.  CALHOUN.    Always,  always. 

And  I  honor  him  for  it. 

This  admission  of  Texas  was  in  1845.  Then,  in  1847,  flagrante 
hello  between  the  United  States  and  Mexico,  the  proposition  I  have 
mentioned  was  brought  forward  by  my  friend  from  Georgia,  and  the 
Northern  Democracy  voted  steadily  against  it.  Their  remedy  was 
to  apply  to  the  acquisitions,  after  they  should  come  in,  the  Wilmot 
Proviso.  What  follows  ?  These  two  gentlemen,  worthy  and  honor- 
able and  influential  men,  (and  if  they  had  not  been  they  could  not 


628  AMERICAN  PROSE 


have  carried  the  measure,)  these  two  gentlemen,  members  of  this 
body,  brought  in  Texas,  and  by  their  votes  they  also  prevented  the 
passage  of  the  resolution  of  the  honorable  member  from  Georgia, 
and  then  they  went  home  and  took  the  lead  in  the  Free  Soil  party. 
And  there  they  stand,  Sir!  They  leave  us  here,  bound  in  honor  and 
conscience  by  the  resolutions  of  annexation;  they  leave  us  here,  to 
take  the  odium  of  fulfilling  the  obligations  in  favor  of  slavery  which 
they  voted  us  into,  or  else  the  greater  odium  of  violating  those  obli- 
gations, while  they  are  at  home  making  capital  and  rousing  speeches 
for  free  soil  and  no  slavery.  And  therefore  I  say,  Sir,  that  there  is 
not  a  chapter  in  our  history,  respecting  public  measures  and  public 
men,  more  full  of  what  would  create  surprise,  more  full  of  what  does 
create,  in  my  mind,  extreme  mortification,  than  that  of  the  conduct 
of  the  Northern  Democracy  on  this  subject. 

Mr.  President,  sometimes,  when  a  man  is  found  in  a  new  relation 
to  things  around  him  and  to  other  men,  he  says  the  world  has  changed, 
and  that  he  has  not  changed.  I  believe,  Sir,  that  our  self-respect 
leads  us  often  to  make  this  declaration  in  regard  to  ourselves  when 
it  is  not  exactly  true.  An  individual  is  more  apt  to  change,  perhaps, 
than  all  the  world  around  him.  But,  under  the  present  circumstances, 
and  under  the  responsibility  which  I  know  I  incur  by  what  I  am  now 
stating  here,  I  feel  at  liberty  to  recur  to  the  various  expressions  and 
statements,  made  at  various  times,  of  my  own  opinions  and  resolu- 
tions respecting  the  admission  of  Texas,  and  all  that  has  followed. 
Sir,  as  early  as  1836,  or  in  the  early  part  of  1837,  there  was  conversa- 
tion and  correspondence  between  myself  and  some  private  friends  on 
this  project  of  annexing  Texas  to  the  United  States;  and  an  honorable 
gentleman  with  whom  I  have  had  a  long  acquaintance,  a  friend  of 
mine,  now  perhaps  in  this  chamber,  I  mean  General  Hamilton,  of 
South  Carolina,  was  privy  to  that  correspondence.  I  had  voted  for 
the  recognition  of  Texan  independence,  because  I  believed  it  to  be 
an  existing  fact,  surprising  and  astonishing  as  it  was,  and  I  wished 
well  to  the  new  republic;  but  I  manifested  from  the  first  utter  opposi- 
tion to  bringing  her,  with  her  slave  territory,  into  the  Union.  I 
happened,  in  1837,  to  make  a  public  address  to  political  friends  in 
New  York,  and  I  then  stated  my  sentiments  upon  the  subject.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  I  had  occasion  to  advert  to  it;  and  I  will  ask 
a  friend  near  me  to  have  the  kindness  to  read  an  extract  from  the 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  629 


speech  made  by  me  on  that  occasion.    It  was  delivered  in  Niblo's 
Garden,  in  1837. 

Mr.  Greene  then  read  the  following  extract  from  the  speech  of  Mr. 
Webster,  to  which  he  referred: — 

"Gentlemen,  we  all  see  that,  by  whomsoever  possessed,  Texas  is 
likely  to  be  a  slave-holding  country;  and  I  frankly  avow  my  entire  unwill- 
ingness to  do  any  thing  which  shall  extend  the  slavery  of  the  African  race 
on  this  continent,  or  add  other  slave-holding  States  to  the  Union.  When  I 
say  that  I  regard  slavery  in  itself  as  a  great  moral,  social,  and  political  evil,  I 
only  use  language  which  has  been  adopted  by  distinguished  men,  themselves 
citizens  of  slave-holding  States.  I  shall  do  nothing,  therefore,  to  favor 
or  encourage  its  further  extension.  We  have  slavery  already  amongst  us. 
The  Constitution  found  it  in  the  Union;  it  recognized  it,  and  gave  it  solemn 
guaranties.  To  the  full  extent  of  these  guaranties  we  are  all  bound,  hi 
honor,  in  justice,  and  by  the  Constitution.  All  the  stipulations  contained 
in  the  Constitution  in  favor  of  the  slave-holding  States  which  are  already  in 
the  Union  ought  to  be  fulfilled,  and,  so  far  as  depends  on  me,  shall  be  ful- 
filled, in  the  fulness  of  their  spirit,  and  to  the  exactness  of  their  letter. 
Slavery,  as  it  exists  in  the  States,  is  beyond  the  reach  of  Congress.  It  is  a 
concern  of  the  States  themselves;  they  have  never  submitted  it  to  Congress, 
and  Congress  has  no  rightful  power  over  it.  I  shall  concur,  therefore,  in  no 
act,  no  measure,  no  menace,  no  indication  of  purpose,  which  shall  interfere 
or  threaten  to  interfere  with  the  exclusive  authority  of  the  several  States 
over  the  subject  of  slavery  as  it  exists  within  their  respective  limits.  All 
this  appears  to  me  to  be  matter  of  plain  and  imperative  duty. 

"But  when  we  come  to  speak  of  admitting  new  States,  the  subject 
assumes  an  entirely  different  aspect.  Our  rights  and  our  duties  are  then 
both  different 

"I  see,  therefore,  no  political  necessity  for  the  annexation  of  Texas  to 
the  Union;  no  advantages  to  be  derived  from  it;  and  objections  to  it  of  a 
strong,  and,  in  my  judgment,  decisive  character." 

I  have  nothing,  Sir,  to  add  to,  or  to  take  from,  those  sentiments. 
That  speech,  the  Senate  will  perceive,  was  made  in  1837.  The  pur- 
pose of  immediately  annexing  Texas  at  that  time  was  abandoned  or 
postponed;  and  it  was  not  revived  with  any  vigor  for  some  years. 
In  the  mean  tune  it  happened  that  I  had  become  a  member  of  the 
executive  administration,  and  was  for  a  short  period  in  the  Depart- 
ment of  State.  The  annexation  of  Texas  was  a  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, not  confidential,  with  the  President  and  heads  of  departments, 
as  well  as  with  other  public  men.  No  serious  attempt  was  then 


630  AMERICAN  PROSE 


made,  however,  to  bring  it  about.  I  left  the  Department  of  State 
in  May,  1843,  and  shortly  after  I  learned,  though  by  means  which 
were  no  way  connected  with  official  information,  that  a  design  had 
been  taken  up  of  bringing  Texas,  with  her  slave  territory  and  popu- 
lation, into  this  Union.  I  was  in  Washington  at  the  time,  and  persons 
are  now  here  who  will  remember  that  we  had  an  arranged  meeting 
for  conversation  upon  it.  I  went  home  to  Massachusetts  and  pro- 
claimed the  existence  of  that  purpose,  but  I  could  get  no  audience 
and  but  little  attention.  Some  did  not  believe  it,  and  some  were 
too  much  engaged  in  their  own  pursuits  to  give  it  any  heed.  They 
had  gone  to  their  farms  or  to  their  merchandise,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  arouse  any  feeling  in  New  England,  or  in  Massachusetts,  that 
should  combine  the  two  great  political  parties  against  this  annexation; 
and,  indeed,  there  was  no  hope  of  bringing  the  Northern  Democracy 
into  that  view,  for  their  leaning  was  all  the  other  way.  But,  Sir, 
even  with  Whigs,  and  leading  Whigs,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  there 
was  a  great  indifference  towards  the  admission  of  Texas,  with  slave 
territory,  into  this  Union. 

The  project  went  on.  I  was  then  out  of  Congress.  The  annexa- 
tion resolutions  passed  on  the  ist  of  March,  1845;  the  legislature  of 
Texas  complied  with  the  conditions  and  accepted  the  guaranties; 
for  the  language  of  the  resolution  is,  that  Texas  is  to  come  in  "upon 
the  conditions  and  under  the  guaranties  herein  prescribed."  I  was 
returned  to  the  Senate  in  March,  1845,  and  was  here  in  December 
following,  when  the  acceptance  by  Texas  of  the  conditions  proposed 
by  Congress  was  communicated  to  us  by  the  President,  and  an  act 
for  the  consummation  of  the  union  was  laid  before  the  two  houses. 
The  connection  was  then  not  completed.  A  final  law,  doing  the  deed 
of  annexation  ultimately,  had  not  been  passed;  and  when  it  was  put 
upon  its  final  passage  here,  I  expressed  my  opposition  to  it,  and 
recorded  my  vote  in  the  negative;  and  there  that  vote  stands,  with 
the  observations  that  I  made  upon  that  occasion.  Nor  is  this  the 
only  occasion  on  which  I  have  expressed  myself  to  the  same  effect.  It 
has  happened  that,  between  1837  and  this  time,  on  various  occasions, 
I  have  expressed  my  entire  opposition  to  the  admission  of  slave 
States,  or  the  acquisition  of  new  slave  territories,  to  be  added  to  the 
United  States.  I  know,  Sir,  no  change  in  my  own  sentiments,  or 
my  own  purposes,  in  that  respect.  I  will  now  ask  my  friend  from 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  631 


Rhode  Island  to  read  another  extract  from  a  speech  of  mine  made 
at  a  Whig  Convention  in  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  in  the  month 
of  September,  1847. 

Mr.  Greene  here  read  the  following  extract: — 

"We  hear  much  just  now  of  a  panacea  for  the  dangers  and  evils  of 
slavery  and  slave  annexation,  which  they  call  the  'Wilmot  Proviso.'  That 
certainly  is  a  just  sentiment,  but  it  is  not  a  sentiment  to  found  any  new 
party  upon.  It  is  not  a  sentiment  on  which  Massachusetts  Whigs  differ. 
There  is  not  a  man  in  this  hall  who  holds  to  it  more  firmly  than  I  do,  nor 
one  who  adheres  to  it  more  than  another. 

"I  feel  some  little  interest  in  this  matter,  Sir.  Did  not  I  commit 
myself  in  1837  to  the  whole  doctrine,  fully,  entirely?  And  I  must  be  per- 
mitted to  say  that  I  cannot  quite  consent  that  more  recent  discoverers 
should  claim  the  merit  and  take  out  a  patent. 

"I  deny  the  priority  of  their  invention.  Allow  me  to  say,  Sir,  it  is  not 
their  thunder 

"We  are  to  use  the  first  and  the  last  and  every  occasion  which  offers 
to  oppose  the  extension  of  slave  power. 

"But  I  speak  of  it  here,  as  in  Congress,  as  a  political  question,  a  ques- 
tion for  statesmen  to  act  upon.  We  must  so  regard  it.  I  certainly  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  it  is  less  important  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  that  it  is  not 
more  important  in  many  other  points  of  view,  but  as  a  legislator,  or  in  any 
official  capacity,  I  must  look  at  it,  consider  it,  and  decide  it  as  a  matter  of 
political  action." 

On  other  occasions,  in  debates  here,  I  have  expressed  my  deter- 
mination to  vote  for  no  acquisition,  or  cession,  or  annexation,  north 
or  south,  east  or  west.  My  opinion  has  been,  that  we  have  territory 
enough,  and  that  we  should  follow  the  Spartan  maxim,  "Improve, 
adorn  what  you  have,"  seek  no  further.  I  think  that  it  was  in  some 
observations  that  I  made  on  the  three-million  loan  bill  that  I  avowed 
this  sentiment.  In  short,  Sir,  it  has  been  avowed  quite  as  often,  in 
as  many  places,  and  before  as  many  assemblies,  as  any  humble 
opinions  of  mine  ought  to  be  avowed. 

But  now  that,  under  certain  conditions,  Texas  is  in  the  Union, 
with  all  her  territory,  as  a  slave  State,  with  a  solemn  pledge,  also, 
that,  if  she  shall  be  divided  into  many  States,  those  States  may  come 
in  as  slave  States  south  of  36°  30',  how  are  we  to  deal  with  this 
subject  ?  I  know  no  way  of  honest  legislation,  when  the  proper  time 
comes  for  the  enactment,  but  to  carry  into  effect  all  that  we  have 


632  AMERICAN  PROSE 


stipulated  to  do.  I  do  not  entirely  agree  with  my  honorable  friend 
from  Tennessee,  that,  as  soon  as  the  time  comes  when  she  is  entitled 
to  another  representative,  we  should  create  a  new  State.  On  former 
occasions,  in  creating  new  States  out  of  territories,  we  have  generally 
gone  upon  the  idea  that,  when  the  population  of  the  territory  amounts 
to  about  sixty  thousand,  we  would  consent  to  its .  admission  as  a 
State.  But  it  is  quite  a  different  thing  when  a  State  is  divided,  and 
two  or  more  States  made  out  of  it.  It  does  not  follow  in  such  a  case 
that  the  same  rule  of  apportionment  should  be  applied.  That,  how- 
ever, is  a  matter  for  the  consideration  of  Congress,  when  the  proper 
time  arrives.  I  may  not  then  be  here;  I  may  have  no  vote  to  give 
on  the  occasion;  but  I  wish  it  to  be  distinctly  understood,  that, 
according  to  my  view  of  the  matter,  this  government  is  solemnly 
pledged,  by  law  and  contract,  to  create  new  States  out  of  Texas, 
with  her  consent,  when  her  population  shall  justify  and  call  for  such 
a  proceeding,  and,  so  far  as  such  States  are  formed  out  of  Texan 
territory  lying  south  of  36°  30',  to  let  them  come  hi  as  slave  States. 
That  is  the  meaning  of  the  contract  which  our  friends,  the  Northern 
Democracy,  have  left  us  to  fulfil;  and  I,  for  one,  mean  to  fulfil  it, 
because  I  will  not  violate  the  faith  of  the  government.  What  I  mean 
to  say  is,  that  the  time  for  the  admission  of  new  States  formed  out 
of  Texas,  the  number  of  such  States,  their  boundaries,  the  requisite 
amount  of  population,  and  all  other  things  connected  with  the  ad- 
mission, are  in  the  free  discretion  of  Congress,  except  this;  to  wit, 
that,  when  new  States  formed  out  of  Texas  are  to  be  admitted,  they 
have  a  right  by  legal  stipulation  and  contract,  to  come  in  as  slave 
States. 

Now,  as  to  California  and  New  Mexico,  I  hold  slavery  to  be 
excluded  from  those  territories  by  a  law  even  superior  to  that  which 
admits  and  sanctions  it  hi  Texas.  I  mean  the  law  of  nature,  of 
physical  geography,  the  law  of  the  formation  of  the  earth.  That 
law  settles  for  ever,  with  a  strength  beyond  all  terms  of  human 
enactment,  that  slavery  cannot  exist  in  California  or  New  Mexico. 
Understand  me,  Sir;  I  mean  slavery  as  we  regard  it;  the  slavery  of 
the  colored  race  as  it  exists  in  the  Southern  States.  I  shall  not 
discuss  the  point,  but  leave  it  to  the  learned  gentlemen  who  have 
undertaken  to  discuss  it;  but  I  suppose  there  is  no  slavery  of  that 
description  in  California  now.  I  understand  that  peonism,  a  sort 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  633 


of  penal  servitude,  exists  there,  or  rather  a  sort  of  voluntary  sale  of 
a  man  and  his  offspring  for  debt,  an  arrangement  of  a  peculiar  nature 
known  to  the  law  of  Mexico.  But  what  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  it  is 
as  impossible  that  African  slavery,  as  we  see  it  among  us,  should 
find  its  way,  or  be  introduced,  into  California  and  New  Mexico,  as 
any  other  natural  impossibility.  California  and  New  Mexico  are 
Asiatic  in  their  formation  and  scenery.  They  are  composed  of  vast 
ridges  of  mountains  of  great  height,  with  broken  ridges  and  deep 
valleys.  The  sides  of  these  mountains  are  entirely  barren;  their 
tops  capped  by  perennial  snow.  There  may  be  in  California,  now 
made  free  by  its  constitution,  and  no  doubt  there  are,  some  tracts 
of  valuable  land.  But  it  is  not  so  hi  New  Mexico.  Pray,  what  is 
the  evidence  which  every  gentleman  must  have  obtained  on  this 
subject,  from  information  sought  by  himself  or  communicated  by 
others  ?  I  have  inquired  and  read  all  I  could  find,  in  order  to  acquire 
information  on  this  important  subject.  What  is  there  in  New  Mex- 
ico that  could,  by  any  possibility,  induce  any  body  to  go  there  with 
slaves  ?  There  are  some  narrow  strips  of  tillable  land  on  the  borders 
of  the  rivers;  but  the  rivers  themselves  dry  up  before  midsummer  is 
gone.  All  that  the  people  can  do  in  that  region  is  to  raise  some 
little  articles,  some  little  wheat  for  their  tortillas,  and  that  by  irriga- 
tion. And  who  expects  to  see  a  hundred  black  men  cultivating 
tobacco,  corn,  cotton,  rice,  or  any  thing  else  on  lands  in  New  Mexico, 
made  fertile  only  by  irrigation  ? 

I  look  upon  it,  therefore,  as  a  fixed  fact,  to  use  the  current 
expression  of  the  day,  that  both  California  and  New  Mexico  are 
destined  to  be  free,  so  far  as  they  are  settled  at  all,  which  I  believe, 
in  regard  to  New  Mexico,  will  be  but  partially  for  a  great  length  of 
time;  free  by  the  arrangement  of  things  ordained  by  the  Power 
above  us.  I  have  therefore  to  say,  in  this  respect  also,  that  this 
country  is  fixed  for  freedom,  to  as  many  persons  as  shall  ever  live 
in  it,  by  a  less  repealable  law  than  that  which  attaches  to  the  right 
of  holding  slaves  in  Texas;  and  I  will  say  further,  that,  if  a  resolution 
or  a  bill  were  now  before  us,  to  provide  a  territorial  government  for 
New  Mexico,  I  would  not  vote  to  put  any  prohibition  into  it  whatever. 
Such  a  prohibition  would  be  idle,  as  it  respects  any  effect  it  would 
have  upon  the  territory;  and  I  would  not  take  pains  uselessly  to 
reaffirm  an  ordinance  of  nature,  nor  to  reenact  the  will  of  God.  I 


634  AMERICAN  PROSE 


would  put  in  no  Wilmot  Proviso  for  the  mere  purpose  of  a  taunt  or  a 
reproach.  I  would  put  into  it  no  evidence  of  the  votes  of  superior 
power,  exercised  for  no  purpose  but  to  wound  the  pride,  whether 
a  just  and  a  rational  pride,  or  an  irrational  pride,  of  the  citizens  of 
the  Southern  States.  I  have  no  such  object,  no  such  purpose.  They 
would  think  it  a  taunt,  an  indignity;  they  would  think  it  to  be  an 
act  taking  away  from  them  what  they  regard  as  a  proper  equality  of 
privilege.  Whether  they  expect  to  realize  any  benefit  from  it  or  not, 
they  would  think  it  at  least  a  plain  theoretic  wrong;  that  something 
more  or  less  derogatory  to  their  character  and  their  rights  had  taken 
place.  I  propose  to  inflict  no  such  wound  upon  any  body,  unless 
something  essentially  important  to  the  country,  and  efficient  to  the 
preservation  of  liberty  and  freedom,  is  to  be  effected.  I  repeat, 
therefore,  Sir,  and,  as  I  do  not  propose  to  address  the  Senate  often 
on  this  subject,  I  repeat  it  because  I  wish  it  to  be  distinctly  under- 
stood, that,  for  the  reasons  stated,  if  a  proposition  were  now  here 
to  establish  a  government  for  New  Mexico,  and  it  was  moved  to 
insert  a  provision  for  a  prohibition  of  slavery,  I  would  not  vote  for  it. 
Sir,  if  we  were  now  making  a  government  for  New  Mexico,  and 
any  body  should  propose  a  Wilmot  Proviso,  I  should  treat  it  exactly 
as  Mr.  Polk  treated  that  provision  for  excluding  slavery  from  Oregon. 
Mr.  Polk  was  known  to  be  in  opinion  decidedly  averse  to  the  Wilmot 
Proviso;  but  he  felt  the  necessity  of  establishing  a  government  for 
the  Territory  of  Oregon.  The  proviso  was  in  the  bill,  but  he  knew 
it  would  be  entirely  nugatory;  and,  since  it  must  be  entirely  nuga- 
tory, since  it  took  away  no  right,  no  describable,  no  tangible,  no 
appreciable  right  of  the  South,  he  said  he  would  sign  the  bill  for  the 
sake  of  enacting  a  law  to  form  a  government  in  that  Territory,  and 
let  that  entirely  useless,  and,  in  that  connection,  entirely  senseless, 
proviso  remain,  Sir,  we  hear  occasionally  of  the  annexation  of 
Canada;  and  if  there  be  any  man,  any  of  the  Northern  Democracy, 
or  any  one  of  the  Free  Soil  party,  who  supposes  it  necessary  to  insert 
a  Wilmot  Proviso  in  a  territorial  government  for  New  Mexico,  that 
man  would  of  course  be  of  opinion  that  it  is  necessary  to  protect 
the  everlasting  snows  of  Canada  from  the  foot  of  slavery  by  the 
same  overspreading  whig  of  an  act  of  Congress.  Sir,  wherever  there 
is  a  substantive  good  to  be  done,  wherever  there  is  a  foot  of  land  to 
be  prevented  from  becoming  slave  territory,  I  am  ready  to  assert 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  635 


the  principle  of  the  exclusion  of  slavery.  I  am  pledged  to  it  from 
the  year  1837;  I  have  been  pledged  to  it  again  and  again;  and  I 
will  perform  those  pledges;  but  I  will  not  do  a  thing  unnecessarily 
that  wounds  the  feelings  of  others,  or  that  does  discredit  to  my  own 
understanding. 

Now,  Mr.  President,  I  have  established,  so  far  as  I  proposed  to 
do  so,  the  proposition  with  which  I  set  out,  and  upon  which  I  intend 
to  stand  or  fall;  .and  that  is,  that  the  whole  territory  within  the 
former  United  States,  or  in  the  newly  acquired  Mexican  provinces, 
has  a  fixed  and  settled  character,  now  fixed  and  settled  by  law  which 
cannot  be  repealed;  in  the  case  of  Texas  without  a  violation  of 
public  faith,  and  by  no  human  power  in  regard  to  California  or 
New  Mexico;  that,  therefore,  under  one  or  other  of  these  laws, 
every  foot  of  land  in  the  States  or  in  the  Territories  has  already 
received  a  fixed  and  decided  character. 

Mr.  President,  in  the  excited  times  in  which  we  live,  there  is 
found  to  exist  a  state  of  crimination  and  recrimination  between  the 
North  and  South.  There  are  lists  of  grievances  produced  by  each; 
and  those  grievances,  real  or  supposed,  alienate  the  minds  of  one 
portion  of  the  country  from  the  other,  exasperate  the  feelings,  and 
subdue  the  sense  of  fraternal  affection,  patriotic  love,  and  mutual 
regard.  I  shall  bestow  a  little  attention,  Sir,  upon  these  various 
grievances  existing  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other.  I  begin  with 
complaints  of  the  South.  I  will  not  answer,  further  than  I  have,  the 
general  statements  of  the  honorable  Senator  from  South  Carolina, 
that  the  North  has  prospered  at  the  expense  of  the  South  in  con- 
sequence of  the  manner  of  administering  this  government,  in  the 
collecting  of  its  revenues,  and  so  forth.  These  are  disputed  topics, 
and  I  have  no  inclination  to  enter  into  them.  But  I  will  allude  to 
other  complaints  of  the  South,  and  especially  to  one  which  has  in 
my  opinion  just  foundation;  and  that  is,  that  there  has  been  found 
at  the  North,  among  individuals  and  among  legislators,  a  disinclina- 
tion to  perform  fully  their  constitutional  duties  in  regard  to  the 
return  of  persons  bound  to  service  who  have  escaped  into  the  free 
States.  In  that  respect,  the  South,  in  my  judgment,  is  right,  and 
the  North  is  wrong.  Every  member  of  every  Northern  legislature  is 
bound  by  oath,  like  every  other  officer  in  the  country,  to  support  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States;  and  the  article  of  the  Constitution 


636  AMERICAN  PROSE 


which  says  to  these  States  that  they  shall  deliver  up  fugitives  from 
service  is  as  binding  in  honor  and  conscience  as  any  other  article. 
No  man  fulfils  his  duty  in  any  legislature  who  sets  himself  to  find 
excuses,  evasions,  escapes  from  this  constitutional  obligation.  I 
have  always  thought  that  the  Constitution  addressed  itself  to  the 
legislatures  of  the  States  or  to  the  States  themselves.  It  says  that 
those  persons  escaping  to  other  States  "shall  be  delivered  up,"  and 
I  confess  I  have  always  been  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  an  injunction 
upon  the  States  themselves.  When  it  is  said  that  a  person  escaping 
into  another  State,  and  coming  therefore  within  the  jurisdiction  of 
that  State,  shall  be  delivered  up,  it  seems  to  me  the  import  of  the 
clause  is,  that  the  State  itself,  in  obedience  to  the  Constitution,  shall 
cause  him  to  be  delivered  up.  That  is  my  judgment.  I  have  always 
entertained  that  opinion,  and  I  entertain  it  now.  But  when  the  sub- 
ject, some  years  ago,  was  before  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States,  the  majority  of  the  judges  held  that  the  power  to  cause  fugi- 
tives from  service  to  be  delivered  up  was  a  power  to  be  exercised 
under  the  authority  of  this  government.  I  do  not  know,  on  the 
whole,  that  it  may  not  have  been  a  fortunate  decision.  My  habit 
is  to  respect  the  result  of  judicial  deliberations  and  the  solemnity 
of  judicial  decisions.  As  it  now  stands,  the  business  of  seeing  that 
these  fugitives  are  delivered  up  resides  in  the  power  of  Congress 
and  the  national  judicature,  and  my  friend  at  the  head  of  the  Judi- 
ciary Committee  has  a  bill  on  the  subject  now  before  the  Senate, 
which,  with  some  amendments  to  it,  I  propose  to  support,  with  all 
its  provisions,  to  the  fullest  extent.  And  I  desire  to  call  the  atten- 
tion of  all  sober-minded  men  at  the  North,  of  all  conscientious  men, 
of  all  men  who  are  not  carried  away  by  some  fanatical  idea  or  some 
false  impression,  to  then*  constitutional  obligations.  I  put  it  to  all 
the  sober  and  sound  minds  at  the  North  as  a  question  of  morals 
and  a  question  of  conscience.  What  right  have  they,  in  their  legis- 
lative capacity  or  any  other  capacity,  to  endeavor  to  get  round  this 
Constitution,  or  to  embarrass  the  free  exercise  of  the  rights  secured 
by  the  Constitution  to  the  persons  whose  slaves  escape  from  them  ? 
None  at  all;  none  at  all.  Neither  in  the  forum  of  conscience,  nor 
before  the  face  of  the  Constitution,  are  they,  in  my  opinion,  justified 
in  such  an  attempt.  Of  course  it  is  a  matter  for  their  consideration. 
They  probably,  in  the  excitement  of  the  times,  have  not  stopped  to 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  637 

consider  of  this.  They  have  followed  what  seemed  to  be  the  current 
of  thought  and  of  motives,  as  the  occasion  arose,  and  they  have  neg- 
lected to  investigate  fully  the  real  question,  and  to  consider  their 
constitutional  obligations;  which,  I  am  sure,  if  they  did  consider, 
they  would  fulfil  with  alacrity.  I  repeat,  therefore,  Sir,  that  here 
is  a  well-founded  ground  of  complaint  against  the  North,  which 
ought  to  be  removed,  which  it  is  now  in  the  power  of  the  different 
departments  of  this  government  to  remove;  which  calls  for  the  enact- 
ment of  proper  laws  authorizing  the  judicature  of  this  government, 
in  the  several  States,  to  do  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  recapture  of 
fugitive  slaves  and  for  their  restoration  to  those  who  claim  them. 
Wherever  I  go,  and  whenever  I  speak  on  the  subject,  and  when  I 
speak  here  I  desire  to  speak  to  the  whole  North,  I  say  that  the  South 
has  been  injured  in  this  respect,  and  has  a  right  to  complain;  and  the 
North  has  been  too  careless  of  what  I  think  the  Constitution  per- 
emptorily and  emphatically  enjoins  upon  her  as  a  duty. 

Complaint  has  been  made  against  certain  resolutions  that 
emanate  from  legislatures  at  the  North,  and  are  sent  here  to  us,  not 
only  on  the  subject  of  slavery  in  this  District,  but  sometimes  rec- 
ommending Congress  to  consider  the  means  of  abolishing  slavery  in 
the  States.  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  called  upon  to  present  any 
resolutions  here  which  could  not  be  referable  to  any  committee  or 
any  power  in  Congress;  and  therefore  I  should  be  unwilling  to 
receive  from  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts  any  instructions  to 
present  resolutions  expressive  of  any  opinion  whatever  on  the  sub- 
ject of  slavery,  as  it  exists  at  the  present  moment  in  the  States,  for 
two  reasons:  first,  because  I  do  not  consider  that  the  legislature  of 
Massachusetts  has  any  thing  to  do  with  it;  and  next,  because  I  do 
not  consider  that  I,  as  her  representative  here,  have  any  thing  to 
do  with  it.  It  has  become,  in  my  opinion,  quite  too  common;  and 
if  the  legislatures  of  the  States  do  not  like  that  opinion,  they  have  a 
great  deal  more  power  to  put  it  down  than  I  have  to  uphold  it;  it 
has  become,  in  my  opinion,  quite  too  common  a  practice  for  the  State 
legislatures  to  present  resolutions  here  on  all  subjects  and  to  instruct 
us  on  all  subjects.  There  is  no  public  man  that  requires  instruction 
more  than  I  do,  or  who  requires  information  more  than  I  do,  or 
desires  it  more  heartily;  but  I  do  not  like  to  have  it  in  too  imperative 
a  shape.  I  took  notice,  with  pleasure,  of  some  remarks  made  upon 


638  AMERICAN  PROSE 


this  subject,  the  other  day,  in  the  Senate  of  .Massachusetts,  by  a 
young  man  of  talent  and  character,  of  whom  the  best  hopes  may  be 
entertained.  I  mean  Mr.  Hillard.  He  told  the  Senate  of  Massachu- 
setts that  he  would  vote  for  no  instructions  whatever  to  be  forwarded 
to  members  of  Congress,  nor  for  any  resolutions  to  be  offered  expres- 
sive of  the  sense  of  Massachusetts  as  to  what  her  members  of  Congress 
ought  to  do.  He  said  that  he  saw  no  propriety  in  one  set  of  public 
servants  giving  instructions  and  reading  lectures  to  another  set  of 
public  servants.  To  his  own  master  each  of  them  must  stand  or  fall, 
and  that  master  is  his  constituents.  I  wish  these  sentiments  could 
become  more  common.  I  have  never  entered  into  the  question,  and 
never  shall,  as  to  the  binding  force  of  instructions.  I  will,  however, 
simply  say  this:  if  there  be  any  matter  pending  in  this  body,  while 
I  am  a  member  of  it,  in  which  Massachusetts  has  an  interest  of  her 
own  not  adverse  to  the  general  interests  of  the  country,  I  shall  pursue 
her  instructions  with  gladness  of  heart  and  with  all  the  efficiency 
which  I  can  bring  to  the  occasion.  But  if  the  question  be  one  which 
affects  her  interest,  and  at  the  same  tune  equally  affects  the  interests 
of  all  the  other  States,  I  shall  no  more  regard  her  particular  wishes 
or  instructions  than  I  should  regard  the  wishes  of  a  man  who  might 
appoint  me  an  arbitrator  or  referee  to  decide  some  question  of  im- 
portant private  right  between  him  and  his  neighbor,  and  then  instruct 
me  to  decide  in  his  favor.  If  ever  there  was  a  government  upon  earth 
it  is  this  government,  if  ever  there  was  a  body  upon  earth  it  is  this 
body,  which  should  consider  itself  as  composed  by  agreement  of  all, 
each  member  appointed  by  some,  but  organized  by  the  general  con- 
sent of  all,  sitting  here,  under  the  solemn  obligations  of  oath  and 
conscience,  to  do  that  which  they  think  to  be  best  for  the  good  of 
the  whole. 

Then,  Sir,  there  are  the  Abolition  societies,  of  which  I  am  unwill- 
ing to  speak,  but  in  regard  to  which  I  have  very  clear  notions  and 
opinions.  I  do  not  think  them  useful.  I  think  their  operations  for 
the  last  twenty  years  have  produced  nothing  good  or  valuable.  At 
the  same  time,  I  believe  thousands  of  their  members  to  be  honest 
and  good  men,  perfectly  well-meaning  men.  They  have  excited 
feelings;  they  think  they  must  do  something  for  the  cause  of  liberty; 
and,  in  their  sphere  of  action,  they  do  not  see  what  else  they  can  do 
than  to  contribute  to  an  Abolition  press,  or  an  Abolition  society,  or 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  639 


to  pay  an  Abolition  lecturer.  I  do  not  mean  to  impute  gross  motjves 
even  to  the  leaders  of  these  societies,  but  I  am  not  blind  to  the  conse- 
quences of  their  proceedings.  I  cannot  but  see  what  mischiefs  their 
interference  with  the  South  has  produced.  And  is  it  not  plain  to 
every  man?  Let  any  gentleman  who  entertains  doubts  on  this 
point  recur  to  the  debates  in  the  Virginia  House  of  Delegates  in  1832, 
and  he  will  see  with  what  freedom  a  proposition  made  by  Mr.  Jefferson 
Randolph  for  the  gradual  abolition  of  slavery  was  discussed  in  that 
body.  Every  one  spoke  of  slavery  as  he  thought;  very  ignominious 
and  disparaging  names  and  epithets  were  applied  to  it.  The  debates 
in  the  House  of  Delegates  on  that  occasion,  I  believe,  were  all  pub- 
lished. They  were  read  by  every  colored  man  who  could  read,  and 
to  those  who  could  not  read,  those  debates  were  read  by  others. 
At  that  time  Virginia  was  not  unwilling  or  afraid  to  discuss  this 
question,  and  to  let  that  part  of  her  population  know  as  much  of  the 
discussion  as  they  could  learn.  That  was  in  1832.  As  has  been  said 
by  the  honorable  member  from  South  Carolina,  these  Abolition 
societies  commenced  their  course  of  action  in  1835.  It  is  said,  I  do 
not  know  how  true  it  may  be,  that  they  sent  incendiary  publications 
into  the  slave  States;  at  any  rate,  they  attempted  to  arouse,  and  did 
arouse,  a  very  strong  feeling;  in  other  words,  they  created  great 
agitation  in  the  North  against  Southern  slavery.  Well,  what  was 
the  result  ?  The  bonds  of  the  slaves  were  bound  more  firmly  than 
before,  their  rivets  were  more  strongly  fastened.  Public  opinion, 
which  in  Virginia  had  begun  to  be  exhibited  against  slavery,  and 
was  opening  out  for  the  discussion  of  the  question,  drew  back  and 
shut  itself  up  in  its  castle.  I  wish  to  know  whether  any  body  in 
Virginia  can  now  talk  openly  as  Mr.  Randolph,  Governor  McDowell, 
and  others  talked  in  1832,  and  sent  their  remarks  to  the  press?  We 
all  know  the  fact,  and  we  all  know  the  cause;  and  every  thing  that 
these  agitating  people  have  done  has  been,  not  to  enlarge,  but  to 
restrain,  not  to  set  free,  but  to  bind  faster,  the  slave  population  of 
the  South. 

Again,  Sir,  the  violence  of  the  Northern  press  is  complained  of. 
The  press  violent!  Why,  Sir,  the  press  is  violent  everywhere.  There 
are  outrageous  reproaches  in  the  North  against  the  South,  and  there 
are  reproaches  as  vehement  in  the  South  against  the  North.  Sir, 
the  extremists  of  both  parts  of  this  country  are  violent;  they  mistake 


640  AMERICAN  PROSE 


loud  and  violent  talk  for  eloquence  and  for  reason.  They  think 
that  he  who  talks  loudest  reasons  best.  And  this  we  must  expect, 
when  the  press  is  free,  as  it  is  here,  and  I  trust  always  will  be;  for, 
with  all  its  licentiousness  and  all  its  evil,  the  entire  and  absolute 
freedom  of  the  press  is  essential  to  the  preservation  of  government 
on  the  basis  of  a  free  constitution.  Wherever  it  exists  there  will  be 
foolish  and  violent  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers,  as  there  are,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  foolish  and  violent  speeches  in  both  houses  of  Con- 
gress. In  truth,  Sir,  I  must  say  that,  hi  my  opinion,  the  vernacular 
tongue  of  the  country  has  become  greatly  vitiated,  depraved,  and 
corrupted  by  the  style  of  our  Congressional  debates.  And  if  it  were 
possible  for  those  debates  to  vitiate  the  principles  of  the  people  as 
much  as  they  have  depraved  their  tastes,  I  should  cry  out,  "God 
save  the  Republic!" 

Well,  in  all  this  I  see  no  solid  grievance,  no  grievance  presented 
by  the  South,  within  the  redress  of  the  government,  but  the  single 
one  to  which  I  have  referred;  and  that  is,  the  want  of  a  proper  regard 
to  the  injunction  of  the  Constitution  for  the  delivery  of  fugitive  slaves. 

There  are  also  complaints  of  the  North  against  the  South.  I 
need  not  go  over  them  particularly.  The  first  and  gravest  is,  that 
the  North  adopted  the  Constitution,  recognizing  the  existence  of 
slavery  in  the  States,  and  recognizing  the  right,  to  a  certain  extent, 
of  the  representation  of  slaves  in  Congress,  under  a  state  of  sentiment 
and  expectation  which  does  not  now  exist;  and  that,  by  events,  by 
circumstances,  by  the  eagerness  of  the  South  to  acquire  territory 
and  extend  her  slave  population,  the  North  finds  itself,  in  regard  to 
the  relative  influence  of  the  South  and  the  North,  of  the  free  States 
and  the  slave  States,  where  it  never  did  expect  to  find  itself,  when 
they  agreed  to  the  compact  of  the  Constitution.  They  complain, 
therefore,  that  instead  of  slavery  being  regarded  as  an  evil,  as  it  was 
then,  an  evil  which  all  hoped  would  be  extinguished  gradually,  it  is 
now  regarded  by  the  South  as  an  institution  to  be  cherished,  and 
preserved,  and  extended;  an  institution  which  the  South  has  already 
extended  to  the  utmost  of  her  power  by  the  acquisition  of  new 
territory. 

Well,  then,  passing  from  that,  every  body  in  the  North  reads; 
and  every  body  reads  whatsoever  the  newspapers  contain;  and  the 
newspapers,  some  of  them,  especially  those  presses  to  which  I  have 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  641 


alluded,  are  careful  to  spread  about  among  the  people  every -re- 
proachful sentiment  uttered  by  any  Southern  man  bearing  at  all 
against  the  North;  every  thing  that  is  calculated  to  exasperate  and 
to  alienate;  and  there  are  many  such  things,  as  every  body  will 
admit,  from  the  South,  or  some  portion  of  it,  which  are  disseminated 
among  the  reading  people;  and  they  do  exasperate,  and  alienate, 
and  produce  a  most  mischievous  effect  upon  the  public  mind  at  the 
North.  Sir,  I  would  not  notice  things  of  this  sort  appearing  in 
obscure  quarters;  but  one  thing  has  occurred  in  this  debate  which 
struck  me  very  forcibly.  An  honorable  member  from  Louisiana 
addressed  us  the  other  day  on  this  subject.  I  suppose  there  is  not  a 
more  amiable  and  worthy  gentleman  in  this  chamber,  nor  a  gentle- 
man who  would  be  more  slow  to  give  offence  to  any  body,  and  he 
did  not  mean  in  his  remarks  to  give  offence.  But  what  did  he  say  ? 
Why,  Sir,  he  took  pains  to  run  a  contrast  between  the  slaves  of  the 
South  and  the  laboring  people  of  the  North,  giving  the  preference, 
in  all  points  of  condition,  and  comfort,  and  happiness,  to  the  slaves 
of  the  South.  The  honorable  member,  doubtless,  did  not  suppose 
that  he  gave  any  offence,  or  did  any  injustice.  He  was  merely  ex- 
pressing his  opinion.  But  does  h'e  know  how  remarks  of  that  sort 
will  be  received  by  the  laboring  people  of  the  North?  Why,  who 
are  the  laboring  people  of  the  North  ?  They  are  the  whole  North. 
They  are  the  people  who  till  their  own  farms  with  their  own  hands; 
freeholders,  educated  men,  independent  men.  Let  me  say,  Sir,  that 
five  sixths  of  the  whole  property  of  the  North  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
laborers  of  the  North;  they  cultivate  their  farms,  they  educate 
their  children,  they  provide  the  means  of  independence.  If  they 
are  not  freeholders,  they  earn  wages;  these  wages  accumulate,  are 
turned  into  capital,  into  new  freeholds,  and  small  capitalists  are 
created.  Such  is  the  case,  and  such  the  course  of  things,  among 
the  industrious  and  frugal.  And  what  can  these  people  think  when 
so  respectable  and  worthy  a  gentleman  as  the  member  from  Louisiana 
undertakes  to  prove  that  the  absolute  ignorance  and  the  abject 
slavery  of  the  South  are  more  in  conformity  with  the  high  purposes 
and  destiny  of  immortal,  rational  human  beings,  than  the  educated, 
the  independent  free  labor  of  the  North  ? 

There  is  a  more  tangible  and  irritating  cause  of  grievance  at 
the  North.     Free  blacks  are  constantly  employed  in  the  vessels 


642  AMERICAN  PROSE 


of  the  North,  generally  as  cooks  or  stewards.  When  the  vessel 
arrives  at  a  Southern  port,  these  free  colored  men  are  taken  on  shore, 
by  the  police  or  municipal  authority,  imprisoned,  and  kept  in  prison 
till  the  vessel  is  again  ready  to  sail.  This  is  not  only  irritating,  but 
exceedingly  unjustifiable  and  oppressive.  Mr.  Hoar's  mission,  some 
time  ago,  to  South  Carolina,  was  a  well-intended  effort  to  remove 
this  cause  of  complaint.  The  North  thinks  such  imprisonments 
illegal  and  unconstitutional;  and  as  the  cases  occur  constantly  and 
frequently,  they  regard  it  as  a  great  grievance. 

Now,  Sir,  so  far  as  any  of  these  grievances  have  their  foundation 
in  matters  of  law,  they  can  be  redressed,  and  ought  to  be  redressed; 
and  so  far  as  they  have  their  foundation  in  matters  of  opinion,  in 
sentiment,  in  mutual  crimination  and  recrimination,  all  that  we  can 
do  is  to  endeavor  to  allay  the  agitation,  and  cultivate  a  better  feeling 
and  more  fraternal  sentiments  between  the  South  and  the  North. 

Mr.  President,  I  should  much  prefer  to  have  heard  from  every 
member  on  this  floor  declarations  of  opinion  that  this  Union  could 
never  be  dissolved,  than  the  declaration  of  opinion  by  any  body, 
that,  in  any  case,  under  the  pressure  of  any  circumstances,  such  a 
dissolution  was  possible.  I  hear  with  distress  and  anguish  the  word 
"secession,"  especially  when  it  falls  from  the  lips  of  those  who  are 
patriotic,  and  known  to  the  country,  and  known  all  over  the  world,  for 
their  political  services.  Secession!  Peaceable  secession!  Sir,  your 
eyes  and  mine  are  never  destined  to  see  that  miracle.  The  dismem- 
berment of  this  vast  country  without  convulsion!  The  breaking  up 
of  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep  without  ruffling  the  surface!  Who 
is  so  foolish,  I  beg  every  body's  pardon,  as  to  expect  to  see  any  such 
thing?  Sir,  he  who  sees  these  States,  now  revolving  in  harmony 
around  a  common  centre,  and  expects  to  see  them  quit  their  places 
and  fly  off  without  convulsion,  may  look  the  next  hour  to  see  the 
heavenly  bodies  rush  from  their  spheres,  and  jostle  against  each 
other  in  the  realms  of  space,  without  causing  the  wreck  of  the  uni- 
verse. There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a  peaceable  secession.  Peace- 
able secession  is  an  utter  impossibility.  Is  the  great  Constitution 
under  which  we  live,  covering  this  whole  country,  is  it  to  be  thawed 
and  melted  away  by  secession,  as  the  snows  on  the  mountain  melt 
under  the  influence  of  a  vernal  sun,  disappear  almost  unobserved, 
and  run  off  ?  No,  Sir!  No,  Sir!  I  will  not  state  what  might  produce 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  643 


the  disruption  of  the  Union;  but,  Sir,  I  see  as  plainly  as  I  see  the 
sun  in  heaven  what  that  disruption  itself  must  produce;  I  see  that 
it  must  produce  war,  and  such  a  war  as  I  will  not  describe,  in  its 
twofold  character. 

Peaceable  secession!  Peaceable  secession!  The  concurrent 
agreement  of  all  the  members  of  this  great  republic  to  separate! 
A  voluntary  separation,  with  alimony  on  one  side  and  on  the  other. 
Why,  what  would  be  the  result  ?  Where  is  the  line  to  be  drawn  ? 
What  States  are  to  secede?  What  is  to  remain  American?  What 
am  I  to  be  ?  An  American  no  longer  ?  Am  I  to  become  a  sectional 
man,  a  local  man,  a  separatist,  with  no  country  in  common  with  the 
gentlemen  who  sit  around  me  here,  or  who  fill  the  other  house  of 
Congress?  Heaven  forbid!  Where  is  the  flag  of  the  republic  to 
remain  ?  Where  is  the  eagle  still  to  tower  ?  or  is  he  to  cower,  and 
shrink,  and  fall  to  the  ground  ?  Why,  Sir,  our  ancestors,  our  fathers 
and  our  grandfathers,  those  of  them  that  are  yet  living  amongst  us 
with  prolonged  lives,  would  rebuke  and  reproach  us;  and  our  chil- 
dren and  our  grandchildren  would  cry  out  shame  upon  us,  if  we  of 
this  generation  should  dishonor  these  ensigns  of  the  power  of  the 
government  and  the  harmony  of  that  Union  which  is  every  day  felt 
among  us  with  so  much  joy  and  gratitude.  What  is  to  become  of 
the  army  ?  What  is  to  become  of  the  navy  ?  What  is  to  become  of 
the  public  lands  ?  How  is  each  of  the  thirty  States  to  defend  itself  ? 
I  know,  although  the  idea  has  not  been  stated  distinctly,  there  is 
to  be,  or  it  is  supposed  possible  that  there  will  be,  a  Southern  Con- 
federacy. I  do  not  mean,  when  I  allude  to  this  statement,  that  any 
one  seriously  contemplates  such  a  state  of  things.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  it  is  true,  but  I  have  heard  it  suggested  elsewhere,  that 
the  idea  has  been  entertained,  that,  after  the  dissolution  of  this 
Union,  a  Southern  Confederacy  might  be  formed.  I  am  sorry,  Sir, 
that  it  has  ever  been  thought  of,  talked  of,  or  dreamed  of,  in  the 
wildest  flights  of  human  imagination.  But  the  idea,  so  far  as  it 
exists,  must  be  of  a  separation,  assigning  the  slave  States  to  one  side 
and  the  free  States  to  the  other.  Sir,  I  may  express  myself  too 
strongly,  perhaps,  but  there  are  impossibilities  in  the  natural  as  well 
as  in  the  physical  world,  and  I  hold  the  idea  of  a  separation  of  these 
States,  those  that  are  free  to  form  one  government,  and  those  that 
are  slave-holding  to  form  another,  as  such  an  impossibility.  We 


644  AMERICAN  PROSE 


could  not  separate  the  States  by  any  such  line,  if  we  were  to  draw  it. 
We  could  not  sit  down  here  to-day  and  draw  a  line  of  separation 
that  would  satisfy  any  five  men  in  the  country.  There  are  natural 
causes  that  would  keep  and  tie  us  together,  and  there  are  social  and 
domestic  relations  which  we  could  not  break  if  we  would,  and  which 
we  should  not  if  we  could. 

Sir,  nobody  can  look  over  the  face  of  this  country  at  the  present 
moment,  nobody  can  see  where  its  population  is  the  most  dense 
and  growing,  without  being  ready  to  admit,  and  compelled  to  admit, 
that  ere  long  the  strength  of  America  will  be  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Mississippi.  Well,  now,  Sir,  I  beg  to  inquire  what  the  wildest  en- 
thusiast has  to  say  on  the  possibility  of  cutting  that  river  in  two,  and 
leaving  free  States  at  its  source  and  on  its  branches,  and  slave  States 
down  near  its  mouth,  each  forming  a  separate  government  ?  Pray, 
Sir,  let  me  say  to  the  people  of  this  country,  that  these  things  are 
worthy  of  their  pondering  and  of  their  consideration.  Here,  Sir, 
are  five  millions  of  freemen  in  the  free  States  north  of  the  river  Ohio. 
Can  any  body  suppose  that  this  population  can  be  severed,  by  a 
line  that  divides  them  from  the  territory  of  a  foreign  and  an  alien 
government,  down  somewhere,  the  Lord  knows  where,  upon  the 
lower  banks  of  the  Mississippi  ?  What  would  become  of  Missouri  ? 
Will  she  join  the  arrondissement  of  the  slave  States?  Shall  the  man 
from  the  Yellow  Stone  and  the  Platte  be  connected,  in  the  new 
republic,  with  the  man  who  lives  on  the  southern  extremity  of  the 
Cape  of  Florida  ?  Sir,  I  am  ashamed  to  pursue  this  line  of  remark. 
I  dislike  it,  I  have  an  utter  disgust  for  it.  I  would  rather  hear  of 
natural  blasts  and  mildews,  war,  pestilence,  and  famine,  than  to 
hear  gentlemen  talk  of  secession.  To  break  up  this  great  government ! 
to  dismember  this  glorious  country!  to  astonish  Europe  with  an  act 
of  folly  such  as  Europe  for  two  centuries  has  never  beheld  in  any 
government  or  any  people!!  No,  Sir!  no,  Sir!  There  will  be  no  seces- 
sion! Gentlemen  are  not  serious  when  they  talk  of  secession. 

Sir,  I  hear  there  is  to  be  a  convention  held  at  Nashville.  I  am 
bound  to  believe  that,  if  worthy  gentlemen  meet  at  Nashville  in 
convention,  their  object  will  be  to  adopt  conciliatory  counsels;  to 
advise  the  South  to  forbearance  and  moderation,  and  to  advise  the 
North  to  forbearance  and  moderation;  and  to  inculcate  principles 
of  brotherly  love  and  affection,  and  attachment  to  the  Constitution 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  645 


of  the  country  as  it  now  is.  I  believe,  if  the  convention  meet  at  all, 
it  will  be  for  this  purpose;  for  certainly,  if  they  meet  for  any  purpose 
hostile  to  the  Union,  they  have  been  singularly  inappropriate  in 
their  selection  of  a  place.  I  remember,  Sir,  that,  when  the  treaty  of 
Amiens  was  concluded  between  France  and  England,  a  sturdy  Eng- 
lishman and  a  distinguished  orator,  who  regarded  the  conditions  of 
the  peace  as  ignominious  to  England,  said  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
that,  if  King  William  could  know  the  terms  of  that  treaty,  he  would 
turn  in  his  coffin!  Let  me  commend  this  saying  of  Mr.  Windham,  in 
all  its  emphasis  and  in  all  its  force,  to  any  persons  who  shall  meet 
at  Nashville  for  the  purpose  of  concerting  measures  for  the  overthrow 
of  this  Union  over  the  bones  of  Andrew  Jackson ! 

Sir,  I  wish  now  to  make  two  remarks,  and  hasten  to  a  conclusion. 
I  wish  to  say,  in  regard  to  Texas,  that  if  it  should  be  hereafter,  at 
any  time,  the  pleasure  of  the  government  of  Texas  to  cede  to  the 
United  States  a  portion,  larger  or  smaller,  of  her  territory  which 
lies  adjacent  to  New  Mexico,  and  north  of  36°  30'  of  north  latitude, 
to  be  formed  into  free  States,  for  a  fair  equivalent  in  money  or  in 
the  payment  of  her  debt,  I  think  it  an  object  well  worthy  the  con- 
sideration of  Congress,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to  concur  in  it  myself, 
if  I  should  have  a  connection  with  the  government  at  that  time. 

I  have  one  other  remark  to  make.  In  my  observations  upon 
slavery  as  it  has  existed  in  this  country,  and  as  it  now  exists,  I  have 
expressed  no  opinion  of  the  mode  of  its  extinguishment  or  meliora- 
tion. I  will  say,  however,  though  I  have  nothing  to  propose,  because 
I  do  not  deem  myself  so  competent  as  other  gentlemen  to  take  any 
lead  on  this  subject,  that  if  any  gentleman  from  the  South  shall 
propose  a  scheme,  to  be  carried  on  by  this  government  upon  a  large 
scale,  for  the  transportation  of  free  colored  people  to  any  colony  or 
any  place  in  the  world,  I  should  be  quite  disposed  to  incur  almost 
any  degree  of  expense  to  accomplish  that  object.  Nay,  Sir,  following 
an  example  set  more  than  twenty  years  ago  by  a  great  man,  then  a 
Senator  from  New  York,  I  would  return  to  Virginia,  and  through 
her  to  the  whole  South,  the  money  received  from  the  lands  and  ter- 
ritories ceded  by  her  to  this  government,  for  any  such  purpose  as 
to  remove,  in  whole  or  in  part,  or  in  any  way  to  diminish  or  deal 
beneficially  with,  the  free  colored  population  of  the  Southern  States. 
I  have  said  that  I  honor  Virginia  for  her  cession  of  this  territory. 


646  AMERICAN  PROSE 


There  have  been  received  into  the  treasury  of  the  United  States 
eighty  millions  of  dollars,  the  proceeds  of  the  sales  of  the  public 
lands  ceded  by  her.  If  the  residue  should  be  sold  at  the  same  rate, 
the  whole  aggregate  will  exceed  two  hundred  millions  of  dollars.  If 
Virginia  and  the  South  see  fit  to  adopt  any  proposition  to  relieve 
themselves  from  the  free  people  of  color  among  them,  or  such  as 
may  be  made  free,  they  have  my  full  consent  that  the  government 
shall  pay  them  any  sum  of  money  out  of  the  proceeds  of  that  cession 
which  may  be  adequate  to  the  purpose. 

And  now,  Mr.  President,  I  draw  these  observations  to  a  close.  I 
have  spoken  freely,  and  I  meant  to  do  so.  I  have  sought  to  make 
no  display.  I  have  sought  to  enliven  the  occasion  by  no  animated 
discussion,  nor  have  I  attempted  any  train  of  elaborate  argument. 
I  have  wished  only  to  speak  my  sentiments,  fully  and  at  length, 
being  desirous,  once  and  for  all,  to  let  the  Senate  know,  and  to  let 
the  country  know,  the  opinions  and  sentiments  which  I  entertain 
on  all  these  subjects.  These  opinions  are  not  likely  to  be  suddenly 
changed.  If  there  be  any  future  service  that  I  can  render  to  the 
country,  consistently  with  these  sentiments  and  opinions,  I  shall 
cheerfully  render  it.  If  there  be  not,  I  shall  still  be  glad  to  have  had 
an  opportunity  to  disburden  myself  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
and  to  make  known  every  political  sentiment  that  therein  exists. 

And  now,  Mr.  President,  instead- of  speaking  of  the  possibility 
or  utility  of  secession,  instead  of  dwelling  in  those  caverns  of  dark- 
ness, instead  of  groping  with  those  ideas  so  full  of  all  that  is  horrid 
and  horrible,  let  us  come  out  into  the  light  of  day;  let  us  enjoy  the 
fresh  air  of  Liberty  and  Union;  let  us  cherish  those  hopes  which  belong 
to  us;  let  us  devote  ourselves  to  those  great  objects  that  are  fit  for 
our  consideration  and  our  action;  let  us  raise  our  conceptions  to  the 
magnitude  and  the  importance  of  the  duties  that  devolve  upon  us; 
let  our  comprehension  be  as  broad  as  the  country  for  which  we  act, 
our  aspirations  as  high  as  its  certain  destiny;  let  us  not  be  pigmies 
in  a  case  that  calls  for  men.  Never  did  there  devolve  on  any  genera- 
tion of  men  higher  trusts  than  now  devolve  upon  us,  for  the  preser- 
vation of  this  Constitution  and  the  harmony  and  peace  of  all  who 
are  destined  to  live  under  it.  Let  us  make  our  generation  one  of 
the  strongest  and  brightest  links  in  that  golden  chain  which  is 
destined,  I  fondly  believe,  to  grapple  the  people  of  all  the  States 


.ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  647 

to  this  Constitution  for  ages  to  come.  We  have  a  great,  popular, 
constitutional  government,  guarded  by  law  and  by  judicature,  and 
defended  by  the  affections  of  the  whole  people.  No  monarchical 
throne  presses  these  States  together,  no  iron  chain  of  military  power 
encircles  them;  they  live  and  stand  under  a  government  popular  in 
its  form,  representative  in  its  character,  founded  upon  principles 
of  equality,  and  so  constructed,  we  hope,  as  to  last  for  ever.  In  all 
its  history  it  has  been  beneficent;  it  has  trodden  down  no  man's 
liberty;  it  has  crushed  no  State.  Its  daily  respiration  is  liberty  and 
patriotism;  its  yet  youthful  veins  are  full  of  enterprise,  courage,  and 
honorable  love  of  glory  and  renown.  Large  before,  the  country  has 
now,  by  recent  events,  become  vastly  larger.  This  republic  now 
extends,  with  a  vast  breadth,  across  the  whole  continent.  The  two 
great  seas  of  the  world  wash  the  one  and  the  other  shore.  We  realize, 
on  a  mighty  scale,  the  beautiful  description  of  the  ornamental  border 
of  the  buckler  of  Achilles: — 

"Now,  the  broad  shield  complete,  the  artist  crowned 
With  his  last  hand,  and  poured  the  ocean  round; 
In  living  silver  seemed  the  waves  to  roll, 
And  beat  the  buckler's  verge,  and  bound  the  whole." 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 
ADDRESS  AT  COOPER  INSTITUTE 

MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  FELLOW-CITIZENS  or  NEW  YORK:  The 
facts  with  which  I  shall  deal  this  evening  are  mainly  old  and  familiar; 
nor  is  there  anything  new  in  the  general  use  I  shall  make  of  them.  If 
there  shall  be  any  novelty,  it  will  be  in  the  mode  of  presenting  the 
facts,  and  the  inferences  and  observations  following  that  presenta- 
tion. In  his  speech  last  autumn  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  as  reported 
in  the  "New- York  Times,"  Senator  Douglas  said: 

Our  fathers,  when  they  framed  the  government  under  which  we  live, 
understood  this  question  just  as  well,  and  even  better,  than  we  do  now. 

I  fully  indorse  this,  and  I  adopt  it  as  a  text  for  this  discourse.  I 
so  adopt  it  because  it  furnishes  a  precise  and  an  agreed  starting- 
point  for  a  discussion  between  Republicans  and  that  wing  of  the 


648  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Democracy  headed  by  Senator  Douglas.  It  simply  leaves  the  in- 
quiry: What  was  the  understanding  those  fathers  had  of  the  question 
mentioned  ? 

What  is  the  frame  of  government  under  which  we  live?  The 
answer  must  be,  "The  Constitution  of  the  United  States."  That 
Constitution  consists  of  the  original,  framed  in  1787,  and  under 
which  the  present  government  first  went  into  operation,  and  twelve 
subsequently  framed  amendments,  the  first  ten  of  which  were  framed 
in  1789. 

Who  were  our  fathers  that  framed  the  Constitution  ?  I  suppose 
the  "thirty-nine"  who  signed  the  original  instrument  may  be  fairly 
called  our  fathers  who  framed  that  part  of  the  present  government. 
It  is  almost  exactly  true  to  say  they  framed  it,  and  it  is  altogether 
true  to  say  they  fairly  represented  the  opinion  and  sentiment  of  the 
whole  nation  at  that  time.  Their  names,  being  familiar  to  nearly 
all,  and  accessible  to  quite  all,  need  not  now  be  repeated. 

I  take  these  "thirty-nine,"  for  the  present,  as  being  "our  fathers 
who  framed  the  government  under  which  we  live."  What  is  the 
question  which,  according  to  the  text,  those  fathers  understood  "just 
as  well ,  and  even  better,  than  we  do  now "  ? 

It  is  this:  Does  the  proper  division  of  local  from  Federal  author- 
ity, or  anything  in  the  Constitution,  forbid  our  Federal  Government 
to  control  as  to  slavery  in  our  Federal  Territories  ? 

Upon  this,  Senator  Douglas  holds  the  affirmative,  and  Republi- 
cans the  negative.  This  affirmation  and  denial  form  an  issue;  and 
this  issue — this  question — is  precisely  what  the  text  declares  our 
fathers  understood  "better  than  we."  Let  us  now  inquire  whether 
the  "thirty-nine,"  or  any  of  them,  ever  acted  upon  this  question; 
and  if  they  did,  how  they  acted  upon  it — how  they  expressed  that 
better  understanding.  In  1784,  three  years  before  the  Constitution, 
the  United  States  then  owning  the  Northwestern  Territory  and  no 
other,  the  Congress  of  the  Confederation  had  before  them  the  ques- 
tion o*  prohibiting  slavery  in  that  Territory;  and  four  of  the  "thirty- 
nine"  who  afterward  framed  the  Constitution  were  in  that  Congress, 
and  voted  on  that  question.  Of  these,  Roger  Sherman,  Thomas 
Mifflin,  and  Hugh  Williamson  voted  for  the  prohibition,  thus  showing 
that,  in  then:  understanding,  no  line  dividing  local  from  Federal 
authority,  nor  anything  else,  properly  forbade  the  Federal  Govern- 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  649 

ment  to  control  as  to  slavery  in  Federal  territory.  The  other  of  the 
four,  James  McHenry,  voted  against  the  prohibition,  showing  that 
for  some  cause  he  thought  it  improper  to  vote  for  it. 

In  1787,  still  before  the  Constitution,  but  while  the  convention 
was  in  session  framing  it,  and  while  the  Northwestern  Territory  still 
was  the  only  Territory  owned  by  the  United  States,  the  same  ques- 
tion of  prohibiting  slavery  in  the  Territory  again  came  before  the 
Congress  of  the  Confederation;  and  two  more  of  the  "thirty-nine" 
who  afterward  signed  the  Constitution  were  in  that  Congress,  and 
voted  on  the  question.  They  were  William  Blount  and  William  Few; 
and  they  both  voted  for  the  prohibition — thus  showing  that  in  their 
understanding  no  line  dividing  local  from  Federal  authority,  nor 
anything  else,  properly  forbade  the  Federal  Government  to  control 
as  to  slavery  in  Federal  territory.  This  time  the  prohibition  became 
a  law,  being  part  of  what  is  now  well  known  as  the  ordinance  of  '87. 

The  question  of  Federal  control  of  slavery  in  the  Territories 
seems  not  to  have  been  directly  before  the  convention  which  framed 
the  original  Constitution;  and  hence  it  is  not  recorded  that  the 
"thirty-nine,"  or  any  of  them,  while  engaged  on  that  instrument, 
expressed  any  opinion  on  that  precise  question. 

In  1789,  by  the  first  Congress  which  sat  under  the  Constitution, 
an  act  was  passed  to  enforce  the  ordinance  of  '87,  including  the 
prohibition  of  slavery  in  the  Northwestern  Territory.  The  bill  for 
this  act  was  reported  by  one  of  the  "thirty-nine" — Thomas  Fitz- 
simmons,  then  a  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives  from 
Pennsylvania.  It  went  through  all  its  stages  without  a  word  of 
opposition,  and  finally  passed  both  branches  without  ayes  and  nays, 
which  is  equivalent  to  a  unanimous  passage.  In  this  Congress  there 
were'  sixteen  of  the  thirty-nine  fathers  who  framed  the  original 
Constitution.  They  were  John  Langdon,  Nicholas  Oilman,  Wm.  S. 
Johnson,  Roger  Sherman,  Robert  Morris,  Thos.  Fitzsimmons,  Wil- 
liam Few,  Abraham  Baldwin,  Rufus  King,  William  Paterson,  George 
Clymer,  Richard  Bassett,  George  Read,  Pierce  Butler,  Daniel  Car- 
roll, and  James  Madison. 

This  shows  that,  in  their  understanding,  no  line  dividing  local 
from  Federal  authority,  nor  anything  in  the  Constitution,  properly 
forbade  Congress  to  prohibit  slavery  in  the  Federal  territory;  else 
both  their  fidelity  to  correct  principle,  and  their  oath  to  support 


650  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  Constitution,  would  have  constrained  them  to  oppose  the  pro- 
hibition. 

Again,  George  Washington,  another  of  the  "thirty-nine,"  was 
then  President  of  -the  United  States,  and  as  such  approved  and 
signed  the  bill,  thus  completing  its  validity  as  a  law,  and  thus  showing 
that,  in  his  understanding,  no  line  dividing  local  from  Federal  au- 
thority, nor  anything  in  the  Constitution,  forbade  the  Federal 
Government  to  control  as  to  slavery  in  Federal  territory. 

No  great  while  after  the  adoption  of  the  original  Constitution, 
North  Carolina  ceded  to  the  Federal  Government  the  country  now 
constituting  the  State  of  Tennessee;  and  a  few  years  later  Georgia 
ceded  that  which  now  constitutes  the  States  of  Mississippi  and  Ala- 
bama. In  both  deeds  of  cession  it  was  made  a  condition  by  the 
ceding  States  that  the  Federal  Government  should  not  prohibit  slavery 
in  the  ceded  country.  Besides  this,  slavery  was  then  actually  in 
the  ceded  country.  Under  these  circumstances,  Congress,  on  taking 
charge  of  these  countries,  did  not  absolutely  prohibit  slavery  within 
them.  But  they  did  interfere  with  it — take  control  of  it — even 
there,  to  a  certain  extent.  In  1798  Congress  organized  the  Terri- 
tory of  Mississippi.  In  the  act  of  organization  they  prohibited  the 
bringing  of  slaves  into  the  Territory  from  any  place  without  the 
United  States,  by  fine,  and  giving  freedom  to  slaves  so  brought. 
This  act  passed  both  branches  of  Congress  without  yeas  and  nays. 
In  that  Congress  were  three  of  the  "thirty-nine"  who  framed  the 
original  Constitution.  They  were  John  Langdon,  George  Read,  and 
Abraham  Baldwin.  They  all  probably  voted  for  it.  Certainly  they 
would  have  placed  their  opposition  to  it  upon  record  if,  in  their 
understanding,  any  line  dividing  local  from  Federal  authority,  or 
anything  in  the  Constitution,  properly  forbade  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment to  control  as  to  slavery  in  Federal  territory. 

In  1803  the  Federal  Government  purchased  the  Louisiana  coun- 
try. Our  former  territorial  acquisitions  came  from  certain  of  our  own 
States;  but  this  Louisiana  country  was  acquired  from  a  foreign 
nation.  In  1804  Congress  gave  a  territorial  organization  to  that 
part  of  it  which  now  constitutes  the  State  of  Louisiana.  New  Or- 
leans, lying  within  that  part,  was  an  old  and  comparatively  large 
city.  There  were  other  considerable  towns  and  settlements,  and 
slavery  was  extensively  and  thoroughly  intermingled  with  the  people. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  6$ I 

Congress  did  not,  in  the  Territorial  Act,  prohibit  slavery;  but  they 
did  interfere  with  it — take  control  of  it — in  a  more  marked  and 
extensive  way  than  they  did  in  the  case  of  Mississippi.  The  sub- 
stance of  the  provision  therein  made  in  relation  to  slaves  was: 

i  st.  That  no  slave  should  be  imported  into  the  Territory  from 
foreign  parts. 

ad.  That  no  slave  should  be  carried  into  it  who  had  been  im- 
ported into  the  United  States  since  the  first  day  of  May,  1798. 

3d.  That  no  slave  should  be  carried  into  it,  except  by  the  owner, 
and  for  his  own  use  as  a  settler;  the  penalty  in  all  the  cases  being 
a  fine  upon  the  violator  of  the  law,  and  freedom  to  the  slave. 

This  act  also  was  passed  without  ayes  or  nays.  In  the  Congress 
which  passed  it  there  were  two  of  the  "thirty-nine."  They  were 
Abraham  Baldwin  and  Jonathan  Dayton.  As  stated  in  the  case  of 
Mississippi,  it  is  probable  they  both  voted  for  it.  They  would  not 
have  allowed  it  to  pass  without  recording  their  opposition  to  it  if, 
in  their  understanding,  it  violated  either  the  line  properly  dividing 
local  from  Federal  authority,  or  any  provision  of  the  Constitution. 

In  1819-20  came  and  passed  the  Missouri  question.  Many 
votes  were  taken,  by  yeas  and  nays,  in  both  branches  of  Congress, 
upon  the  various  phases  of  the  general  question.  Two  of  the  "thirty- 
nine" — Rufus  King  and  Charles  Pinckney — were  members  of  that 
Congress.  Mr.  King  steadily  voted  for  slavery  prohibition  and 
against  all  compromises,  while  Mr.  Pinckney  as  steadily  voted 
against  slavery  prohibition  and  against  all  compromises.  By  this, 
Mr.  King  showed  that,  in  his  understanding,  no  line  dividing  local 
from  Federal  authority,  nor  anything  in  the  Constitution,  was  vio- 
lated by  Congress  prohibiting  slavery  in  Federal  territory;  while 
Mr.  Pinckney,  by  his  votes,  showed  that,  in  his  understanding,  there 
was  some  sufficient  reason  for  opposing  such  prohibition  in  that  case. 

The  cases  I  have  mentioned  are  the  only  acts  of  the  "thirty- 
nine,"  or  of  any  of  them,  upon  the  direct  issue,  which  I  have  been 
able  to  discover. 

To  enumerate  the  persons  who  thus  acted  as  being  four  in  1784, 
two  in  1787,  seventeen  in  1789,  three  in  1798,  two  in  1804,  and  two 
in  1819-20,-  there  would  be  thirty  of  them.  But  this  would  be  count- 
ing John  Langdon,  Roger  Sherman,  William  Few,  Rufus  King,  and 
George  Read  each  twice,  and  Abraham  Baldwin  three  times.  The 


652  AMERICAN  PROSE 


true  number  of  those  of  the  "  thirty-nine  "  whom  I  have  shown  to  have 
acted  upon  the  question  which,  by  the  text,  they  understood  better 
than  we,  is  twenty-three,  leaving  sixteen  not  shown  to  have  acted 
upon  it  in  any  way. 

Here,  then,  we  have  twenty-three  out  of  our  thirty-nine  fathers 
"who  framed  the  government  under  which  we  live,"  who  have,  upon 
their  official  responsibility  and  their  corporal  oaths,  acted  upon  the 
very  question  which  the  text  affirms  they  "understood  just  as  well, 
and  even  better,  than  we  do  now";  and  twenty-one  of  them — a 
clear  majority  of  the  whole  "thirty-nine" — so  acting  upon  it  as  to 
make  them  guilty  of  gross  political  impropriety  and  wilful  perjury 
if,  in  their  understanding,  any  proper  division  between  local  and 
Federal  authority,  or  anything  in  the  Constitution  they  had  made 
themselves,  and  sworn  to  support,  forbade  the  Federal  Government 
to  control  as  to  slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories.  Thus  the  twenty- 
one  acted;  and,  as  actions  speak  louder  than  words,  so  actions  un- 
der such  responsibility  speak  still  louder. 

Two  of  the  twenty-three  voted  against  congressional  prohibition 
of  slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories,  in  the  instances  in  which  they 
acted  upon  the  question.  But  for  what  reasons  they  so  voted  is  not 
known.  They  may  have  done  so  because  they  thought  a  proper 
division  of  local  from  Federal  authority,  or  some  provision  or  principle 
of  the  Constitution,  stood  in  the  way;  or  they  may,  without  any 
such  question,  have  voted  against  the  prohibition  on  what  appeared 
to  them  to  be  sufficient  grounds  of  expediency.  No  one  who  has 
sworn  to  support  the  Constitution  can  conscientiously  vote  for  what 
he  understands  to  be  an  unconstitutional  measure,  however  expedient 
he  may  think  it;  but  one  may  and  ought  to  vote  against  a  measure 
which  he  deems  constitutional  if,  at  the  same  time,  he  deems  it 
inexpedient.  It,  therefore,  would  be  unsafe  to  set  down  even  the 
two  who  voted  against  the  prohibition  as  having  done  so  because,  in 
their  understanding,  any  proper  division  of  local  from  Federal  au- 
thority, or  anything  in  the  Constitution,  forbade  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment to  control  as  to  slavery  in  Federal  territory. 

The  remaining  sixteen  of  the  "thirty-nine,"  so  far  as  I  have 
discovered,  have  left  no  record  of  their  understanding  upon  the 
direct  question  of  Federal  control  of  slavery  in  the  Federal  Terri- 
tories. But  there  is  much  reason  to  believe  that  their  understanding 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  653 

upon  that  question  would  not  have  appeared  different  from  that  of 
their  twenty-three  compeers,  had  it  been  manifested  at  all. 

For  the  purpose  of  adhering  rigidly  to  the  text,  I  have  purposely 
omitted  whatever  understanding  may  have  been  manifested  by  any 
person,  however  distinguished,  other  than  the  thirty-nine  fathers 
who  framed  the  original  Constitution;  and,  for  the  same  reason,  I 
have  also  omitted  whatever  understanding  may  have  been  mani- 
fested by  any  of  the  "thirty-nine"  even  on  any  other  phase  of  the 
general  question  of  slavery.  If  we  should  look  into  their  acts  and 
declarations  on  those  other  phases,  as  the  foreign  slave-trade,  and 
the  morality  and  policy  of  slavery  generally,  it  would  appear  to  us 
that  on  the  direct  question  of  Federal  control  of  slavery  in  Federal 
Territories,  the  sixteen,  if  they  had  acted  at  all,  would  probably 
have  acted  just  as  the  twenty-three  did.  Among  that  sixteen  were 
several  of  the  most  noted  antislavery  men  of  those  times, — as  Dr. 
Franklin,  Alexander  Hamilton,  and  Gouverneur  Morris, — while 
there  was  not  one  now  known  to  have  been  otherwise,  unless  it  may 
be  John  Rutledge,  of  South  Carolina. 

The  sum  of  the  whole  is  that  of  our  thirty-nine  fathers  who 
framed  the  original  Constitution,  twenty-one — a  clear  majority  of 
the  whole — certainly  understood  that  no  proper  division  of  local  from 
Federal  authority,  nor  any  part  of  the  Constitution,  forbade  the 
Federal  Government  to  control  slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories; 
while  all  the  rest  had  probably  the  same  understanding.  Such, 
unquestionably,  was  the  understanding  of  our  fathers  who  framed 
the  original  Constitution;  and  the  text  affirms  that  they  understood 
the  question  "better  than  we." 

But,  so  far,  I  have  been  considering  the  understanding  of  the 
question  manifested  by  the  framers  of  the  original  Constitution.  In 
and  by  the  original  instrument,  a  mode  was  provided  for  amending  it; 
and,  as  I  have  already  stated,  the  present  frame  of  "the  government 
under  which  we  live"  consists  of  that  original,  and  twelve  amendatory 
articles  framed  and  adopted  since.  Those  who  now  insist  that  Fed- 
eral control  of  slavery  in  Federal  Territories  violates  the  Constitution, 
point  us  to  the  provisions  which  they  suppose  it  thus  violates;  and, 
as  I  understand,  they  all  fix  upon  provisions  in  these  amendatory 
articles,  and  not  in  the  original  instrument.  The  Supreme  Court, 
in  the  Dred  Scott  case,  plant  themselves  upon  the  fifth  amendment, 


654  AMERICAN  PROSE 


which  provides  that  no  person  shall  be  deprived  of  "life,  liberty,  or 
property  without  due  process  of  law";  while  Senator  Douglas  and 
his  peculiar  adherents  plant  themselves  upon  the  tenth  amendment, 
providing  that  "the  powers  not  delegated  to  the  United  States  by 
the  Constitution"  "are  reserved  to  the  States  respectively,  or  to  the 
people." 

Now,  it  so  happens  that  these  amendments  were  framed  by  the 
first  Congress  which  sat  under  the  Constitution — the  identical  Con- 
gress which  passed  the  act,  already  mentioned,  enforcing  the  prohibi- 
tion of  slavery  in  the  Northwestern  Territory.  Not  only  was  it  the 
same  Congress,  but  they  were  the  identical,  same  individual  men 
who,  at  the  same  session,  and  at  the  same  time  within  the  session, 
had  under  consideration,  and  in  progress  toward  .maturity,  these 
constitutional  amendments,  and  this  act  prohibiting  slavery  in  all 
the  territory  the  nation  then  owned.  The  constitutional  amendments 
were  introduced  before,  and  passed  after,  the  act  enforcing  the  ordi- 
nance of  '87;  so  that,  during  the  whole  pendency  of  the  act  to  enforce 
the  ordinance,  the  constitutional  amendments  were  also  pending. 

The  seventy-six  members  of  that  Congress,  including  sixteen  of 
the  framers  of  the  original  Constitution,  as  before  stated,  were  pre- 
eminently our  fathers  who  framed  that  part  of  "the  government 
under  which  we  live"  which  is  now  claimed  as  forbidding  the  Federal 
Government  to  control  slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories.  • 

Is  it  not  a  little  presumptuous  in  any  one  at  this  day  to  affirm 
that  the  two  things  which  that  Congress  deliberately  framed,  and 
carried  to  maturity  at  the  same  time,  are  absolutely  inconsistent 
with  each  other  ?  And  does  not  such  affirmation  become  impudently 
absurd  when  coupled  with  the  other  affirmation,  from  the  same 
mouth,  that  those  who  did  the  two  things  alleged  to  be  inconsistent, 
understood  whether  they  really  were  inconsistent  better  than  we — 
better  than  he  who  affirms  that  they  are  inconsistent  ? 

It  is  surely  safe  to  assume  that  the  thirty-nine  framers  of  the 
original  Constitution,  and  the  seventy-six  members  of  the  Congress 
which  framed  the  amendments  thereto,  taken  together,  do  certainly 
include  those  who  may  be  fairly  called  "our  fathers  who  framed  the 
government  under  which  we  live."  And  so  assuming,  I  defy  any 
man  to  show  that  any  one  of  them  ever,  in  his  whole  life,  declared 
that,  in  his  understanding,  any  proper  division  of  local  from  Fed- 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  655 

eral  authority,  or  any  part  of  the  Constitution,  forbade  the  Federal 
Government  to  control  as  to  slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories.  I 
go  a  step  further.  I  defy  any  one  to  show  that  any  living  man  in 
the  whole  world  ever  did,  prior  to  the  beginning  of  the  present  cen- 
tury (and  I  might  almost  say  prior  to  the  beginning  of  the  last  half 
of  the  present  century),  declare  that,  hi  this  understanding,  any 
proper  division  of  local  from  Federal  authority,  or  any  part  of  the 
Constitution,  forbade  the  Federal  Government  to  control  as  to 
slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories.  To  those  who  now  so  declare  I 
give  not  only  "our  fathers  who  framed  the  government  under  which 
we  live,"  but  with  them  all  other  living  men  within  the  century  in 
which  it  vras  framed,  among  whom  to  search,  and  they  shall  not  be 
able  to  find  the  evidence  of  a  single  man  agreeing  with  them. 

Now,  and  here,  let  me  guard  a  little  against  being  misunderstood. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  we  are  bound  to  follow  implicitly  in  whatever 
our  fathers  did.  To  do  so  would  be  to  discard  all  the  lights  of  current 
experience — to  reject  all  progress,  all  improvement.'  What  I  do  say 
is  that  if  we  would  supplant  the  opinions  and  policy  of  our  fathers 
in  any  case,  we  should  do  so  upon  evidence  so  conclusive,  and  argu- 
ment so  clear,  that  even  their  great  authority,  fairly  considered  and 
weighed,  cannot  stand;  and  most  surely  not  in  a  case  whereof  we 
ourselves  declare  they  understood  the  question  better  than  we. 

If  any  man  at  this  day  sincerely  believes  that  a  proper  division 
of  local  from  Federal  authority,  or  any  part  of  the  Constitution, 
forbids  the  Federal  Government  to  control  as  to  slavery  in  the  Fed- 
eral Territories,  he  is  right  to  say  so,  and  to  enforce  his  position  by 
all  truthful  evidence  and  fair  argument  which  he  can.  But  he  has 
no  right  to  mislead  others,  who  have  less  access  to  history,  and  less 
leisure  to  study  it,  into  the  false  belief  that  "our  fathers  who  framed 
the  government  under  which  we  live"  were  of  the  same  opinion — 
thus  substituting  falsehood  and  deception  for  truthful  evidence  and 
fair  argument.  If  any  man  at  this  day  sincerely  believes  "our  fathers 
who  framed  the  government  under  which  we  live"  used  and  applied 
principles,  in  other  cases,  which  ought  to  have  led  them  to  under- 
stand that  a  proper  division  of  local  from  Federal  authority,  or  some 
part  of  the  Constitution,  forbids  the  Federal  Government  to  control 
as  to  slavery  in  the  Federal  Territories,  he  is  right  to  say  so.  But  he 
should,  at  the  same  time,  brave  the  responsibility  of  declaring  that, 


656  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  his  opinion,  he  understands  their  principles  better  than  they  did 
themselves;  and  especially  should  he  not  shirk  that  responsibility  by 
asserting  that  they  "understood  the  question  just  as  well,  and  even 
better,  than  we  do  now." 

But  enough!  Let  all  who  believe  that  "our  fathers  who  framed 
the  government  under  which  we  live  understood  this  question  just 
as  well,  and  even  better,  than  we  do  now,"  speak  as  they  spoke,  and 
act  as  they  acted  upon  it.  This  is  all  Republicans  ask — all  Republi- 
cans desire — in  relation  to  slavery.  As  those  fathers  marked  it,  so 
let  it  be  again  marked,  as  an  evil  not  to  be  extended,  but  to  be  tol- 
erated and  protected  only  because  of  and  so  far  as  its  actual  presence 
among  us  makes  that  toleration  and  protection  a  necessity.  Let  all 
the  guaranties  those  fathers  gave  it  be  not  grudgingly,  but  fully  and 
fairly,  maintained.  For  this  Republicans  contend,  and  with  this, 
so  far  as  I  know  or  believe,  they  will  be  content. 

And  now,  if  they  would  listen, — as  I  suppose  they  will  not, — I 
would  address  a  few  words  to  the  Southern  people. 

I  would  say  to  them:  You  consider  yourselves  a  reasonable  and 
a  just  people;  and  I  consider  that  in  the  general  qualities  of  reason 
and  justice  you  are  not  inferior  to  any  other  people.  Still,  when 
you  speak  of  us  Republicans,  you  do  so  only  to  denounce  us  as 
reptiles,  or,  at  the  best,  as  no  better  than  outlaws.  You  will  grant  a 
hearing  to  pirates  or  murderers,  but  nothing  like  it  to  "Black  Republi- 
cans." In  all  your  contentions  with  one  another,  each  of  you  deems 
an  unconditional  condemnation  of  "Black  Republicanism"  as  the 
first  thing  to  be  attended  to.  Indeed,  such  condemnation  of  us 
seems  to  be  an  indispensable  prerequisite — license,  so  to  speak — 
among  you  to  be  admitted  or  permitted  to  speak  at  all.  Now  can 
you  or  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  pause  and  to  consider  whether  this 
is  quite  just  to  us,  or  even  to  yourselves  ?  Bring  forward  your  charge 
and  specifications,  and  then  be  patient  long  enough  to  hear  us  deny 
or  justify. 

You  say  we  are  sectional.  We  deny  it.  That  makes  an  issue; 
and  the  burden  of  proof  is  upon  you.  You  produce  your  proof;  and 
what  is  it  ?  Why,  that  our  party  has  no  existence  in  your  section — 
gets  no  votes  in  your  section.  The  fact  is  substantially  true;  but 
does  it  prove  the  issue  ?  If  it  does,  then  in  case  we  should,  without 
change  of  principle,  begin  to  get  votes  in  your  section,  we  should 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  657 

thereby  cease  to  be  sectional.  You  cannot  escape  this  conclusion; 
and  yet,  are  you  willing  to  abide  by  it  ?  If  you  are,  you  will  probably 
soon  find  that  we  have  ceased  to  be  sectional,  for  we  shall  get  votes 
in  your  section  this  very  year.  You  will  then  begin  to  discover,  as 
the  truth  plainly  is,  that  your  proof  does  not  touch  the  issue.  The 
fact  that  we  get  no  votes  in  your  section  is  a  fact  of  your  making, 
and  not  of  ours.  And  if  there  be  fault  in  that  fact,  that  fault  is  pri- 
marily yours,  and  remains  so  until  you  show  that  we  repel  you  by 
some  wrong  principle  or  practice.  If  we  do  repel  you  by  any  wrong 
principle  or  practice,  the  fault  is  ours;  but  this  brings  you  to  where 
you  ought  to  have  started — to  a  discussion  of  the  right  or  wrong  of 
our  principle.  If  our  principle,  put  in  practice,  would  wrong  your 
section  for  the  benefit  of  ours,  or  for  any  other  object,  then  our  prin- 
ciple, and  we  with  it,  are  sectional,  and  are  justly  opposed  and 
denounced  as  such.  Meet  us,  then,  on  the  question  of  whether  our 
principle,  put  in  practice,  would  wrong  your  section;  and  so  meet  us 
as  if  it  were  possible  that  something  may  be  said  on  our  side.  Do 
you  accept  the  challenge?  No!  Then  you  really  believe  that  the 
principle  which  "our  fathers  who  framed  the  government  under 
which  we  live"  thought  so  clearly  right  as  to  adopt  it,  and  indorse 
it  again  and  again,  upon  their  official  oaths,  is  in  fact  so  clearly  wrong 
as  to  demand  your  condemnation  without  a  moment's  consideration. 

Some  of  you  delight  to  flaunt  in  our  faces  the  warning  against 
sectional  parties  given  by  Washington  in  his  Farewell  Address.  Less 
than  eight  years  before  Washington  gave  that  warning,  he  had,  as 
President  of  the  United  States,  approved  and  signed  an  act  of  Con- 
gress enforcing  the  prohibition  of  slavery  in  the  Northwestern  Terri- 
tory, which  act  embodied  the  policy  of  the  government  upon  that 
subject  up  to  and  at  the  very  moment  he  penned  that  warning;  and 
about  one  year  after  he  penned  it,  he  wrote  Lafayette  that  he  con- 
sidered that  prohibition  a  wise  measure,  expressing  in  the  same 
connection  his  hope  that  we  should  at  some  time  have  a  confederacy 
of  free  States. 

Bearing  this  in  mind,  and  seeing  that  sectionalism  has  since 
arisen  upon  this  same  subject,  is  that  warning  a  weapon  in  your 
hands  against  us,  or  in  our  hands  against  you  ?  Could  Washington 
himself  speak,  would  he  cast  the  blame  of  that  sectionalism  upon 
us,  who  sustain  his  policy,  or  upon  you,  who  repudiate  it?  We 


658  AMERICAN  PROSE 


respect  that  warning  of  Washington,  and  we  commend  it  to  you, 
together  with  his  example  pointing  to  the  right  application  of  it. 

But  you  say  you  are  conservative — eminently  conservative — 
while  we  are  revolutionary,  destructive,  or  something  of  the  sort. 
What  is  conservatism?  Is  it  not  adherence  to  the  old  and  tried, 
against  the  new  and  untried  ?  We  stick  to,  contend  for,  the  identical 
old  policy  on  the  point  in  controversy  which  was  adopted  by  "our 
fathers  who  framed  the  government  under  which  we  live";  while 
you  with  one  accord  reject,  and  scout,  and  spit  upon  that  old  policy, 
and  insist  upon  substituting  something  new.  True,  you  disagree 
among  yourselves  as  to  what  that  substitute  shall  be.  You  are 
divided  on  new  propositions  and  plans,  but  you  are  unanimous  in 
rejecting  and  denouncing  the  old  policy  of  the  fathers.  Some  of  you 
are  for  reviving  the  foreign  slave-trade;  some  for  a  congressional 
slave  code  for  the  Territories;  some  for  Congress  forbidding  the 
Territories  to  prohibit  slavery  within  their  limits;  some  for  main- 
taining slavery  in  the  Territories  through  the  judiciary;  some  for 
the  "gur-reatpur-rinciple"  that  "if  one  man  would  enslave  another, 
no  third  man  should  object,"  fantastically  called  "popular  sover- 
eignty"; but  never  a  man  among  you  is  in  favor  of  Federal  prohibi- 
tion of  slavery  in  Federal  Territories,  according  to  the  practice  of 
"our  fathers  who  framed  the  government  under  which  we  live." 
Not  one  of  all  your  various  plans  can  show  a  precedent  or  an  advocate 
in  the  century  within  which  our  government  originated.  Consider, 
then,  whether  your  claim  of  conservatism  for  yourselves,  and  your 
charge  of  destructiveness  against  us,  are  based  on  the  most  clear  and 
stable  foundations. 

Again,  you  say  we  have  made  the  slavery  question  more  prom- 
inent than  it  formerly  was.  We  deny  it.  We  admit  that  it  is  more 
prominent,  but  we  deny  that  we  made  it  so.  It  was  not  we,  but  you, 
who  discarded  the  old  policy  of  the  fathers.  We  resisted,  and  still 
resist,  your  innovation;  and  thence  comes  the  greater  prominence 
of  the  question.  Would  you  have  that  question  reduced  to  its  former 
proportions?  Go  back  to  that  old  policy.  What  has  been  will  be 
again,  under  the  same  conditions.  If  you  would  have  the  peace  of 
the  old  times,  readopt  the  precepts  and  policy  of  the  old  times. 

You  charge  that  we  stir  up  insurrections  among  your  slaves. 
We  deny  it  •  and  what  is  your  proof  ?  Harper's  Ferry!  John  Brown!  I 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  659 

John  Brown  was  no  Republican;  and  you  have  failed  to  implicate  a 
single  Republican  in  his  Harper's  Ferry  enterprise.  If  any  member 
of  our  party  is  guilty  in  that  matter,  you  know  it,  or  you  do  not 
know  it.  If  you  do  know  it,  you  are  inexcusable  for  not  designating 
the  man  and  proving  the  fact.  If  you  do  not  know  it,  you  are  in- 
excusable for  asserting  it,  and  especially  for  persisting  hi  the  assertion 
after  you  have  tried  and  failed  to  make  the  proof.  You  need  not  be 
told  that  persisting  in  a  charge  which  one  does  not  know  to  be  true, 
is  simply  malicious  slander. 

Some  of  you  admit  that  no  Republican  designedly  aided  or 
encouraged  the  Harper's  Ferry  affair,  but  still  insist  that  our  doc- 
trines and  declarations  necessarily  lead  to  such  results.  We  do  not 
believe  it.  We  know  we  hold  no  doctrine,  and  make  no  declaration^ 
which  were  not  held  to  and  made  by  "our  fathers  who  framed  the 
government  under  which  we  live."  You  never  dealt  fairly  by  us  in 
relation  to  this  affair.  When  it  occurred,  some  important  State 
elections  were  near  at  hand,  and  you  were  in  evident  glee  with  the 
belief  that,  by  charging  the  blame  upon  us,  you  could  get  an  advan- 
tage of  us  in  those  elections.  The  elections  came,  and  your  expecta- 
tions were  not  quite  fulfilled.  Every  Republican  man  knew  that,  as 
to  himself  at  least,  your  charge  was  a  slander,  and  he  was  not  much 
inclined  by  it  to  cast  his  vote  in  your  favor.  Republican  doctrines 
and  declarations  are  accompanied  with  a  continual  protest  against 
any  interference  whatever  with  your  slaves,  or  with  you  about  your 
slaves.  Surely,  this  does  not  encourage  them  to  revolt.  True,  we 
do,  in  common  with  "our  fathers  who  framed  the  government  under 
which  we  live,"  declare  our  belief  that  slavery  is  wrong;  but  the 
slaves  do  not  hear  us  declare  even  this.  For  anything  we  say  or  do, 
the  slaves  would  scarcely  know  there  is  a  Republican  party.  I 
believe  they  would  not,  in  fact,  generally  know  it  but  for  your  mis- 
representations of  us  in  their  hearing.  In  your  political  contests 
among  yourselves,  each  faction  charges  the  other  with  sympathy 
with  Black  Republicanism;  and  then,  to  give  point  to  the  charge, 
defines  Black  Republicanism  to  simply  be  insurrection,  blood,  and 
thunder  among  the  slaves. 

Slave  insurrections  are  no  more  common  now  than  they  were 
before  the  Republican  party  was  organized.  What  induced  the 
Southampton  insurrection,  twenty-eight  years  ago,  in  which  at  least 


660  AMERICAN  PROSE 


three  times  as  many  lives  were  lost  as  at  Harper's  Ferry  ?  You  can 
scarcely  stretch  your  very  elastic  fancy  to  the  conclusion  that  South- 
ampton was  "got  up  by  Black  Rfpublicanism."  In  the  present 
state  of  things  in  the  United  States,  I  do  not  think  a  general,  or  even  a 
very  extensive,  slave  insurrection  is  possible.  The  indispensable  con- 
cert of  action  cannot  be  attained.  The  slaves  have  no  means  of  rapid 
communication;  nor  can  incendiary  freemen,  black  or  white,  supply 
it.  The  explosive  materials  are  everywhere  in  parcels;  but  there 
neither  are,  nor  can  be  supplied,  the  indispensable  connecting 
trains. 

Much  is  said  by  Southern  people  about  the  affection  of  slaves 
for  their  masters  and  mistresses;  and  a  part  of  it,  at  least,  is  true.  A 
plot  for  an  uprising  could  scarcely  be  devised  and  communicated  to 
twenty  individuals  before  some  one  of  them,  to  save  the  life  of  a 
favorite  master  or  mistress,  would  divulge  it.  This  is  the  rule;  and 
the  slave  revolution  in  Hayti  was  not  an  exception  to  it,  but  a  case 
occurring  under  peculiar  circumstances.  The  gunpowder  plot  of 
British  history,  though  not  connected  with  slaves,  was  more  in  point. 
In  that  case  only  about  twenty  were  admitted  to  the  secret;  and 
yet  one  of  them,  in  his  anxiety  to  save  a  friend,  betrayed  the  plot  to 
that  friend,  and,  by  consequence,  averted  the  calamity.  Occasional 
poisonings  from  the  kitchen,  and  open  or  stealthy  assassinations  in 
the  field,  and  local  revolts  extending  to  a  score  or  so,  will  continue  to 
occur  as  the  natural  results  of  slavery;  but  no  general  insurrection 
of  slaves,  as  I  think,  can  happen  in  this  country  for  a  long  time. 
Whoever  much  fears,  or  much  hopes,  for  such  an  event,  will  be  alike 
disappointed. 

In  the  language  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  uttered  many  years  ago,  "It 
is  still  in  our  power  to  direct  the  process  of  emancipation  and  de- 
portation peaceably,  and  in  such  slow  degrees,  as  that  the  evil  will 
wear  off  insensibly;  and  their  places  be,  part  passu,  filled  up  by  free 
white  laborers.  If,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  left  to  force  itself  on,  human 
nature  must  shudder  at  the  prospect  held  up." 

Mr.  Jefferson  did  not  mean  to  say,  nor  do  I,  that  the  power  of 
emancipation  is  in  the  Federal  Government.  He  spoke  of  Virginia; 
and,  as  to  the  power  of  emancipation,  I  speak  of  the  slaveholding 
States  only.  The  Federal  Government,  however,  as  we  insist,  has 
the  power  of  restraining  the  extension  of  the  institution — the  power 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  66 1 

to  insure  that  a  slave  insurrection  shall  never  occur  on  any  American 
soil  which  is  now  free  from  slavery. 

John  Brown's  effort  was  peculiar.  It  was  not  a  slave  insurrec- 
tion. It  was  an  attempt  by  white  men  to  get  up  a  revolt  among  slaves, 
hi  which  the  slaves  refused  to  participate.  In  fact,  it  was  so  absurd 
that  the  slaves,  with  all  their  ignorance,  saw  plainly  enough  it  could 
not  succeed.  That  affair,  in  its  philosophy,  corresponds  with  the 
many  attempts,  related  in  history,  at  the  assassination  of  kings  and 
emperors.  An  enthusiast  broods  over  the  oppression  of  a  people  till 
he  fancies  himself  commissioned  by  Heaven  to  liberate  them.  He 
ventures  the  attempt,  which  ends  in  little  else  than  his  own  execution. 
Orsini's  attempt  on  Louis  Napoleon  and  John  Brown's  attempt  at 
Harper's  Ferry  were,  in  their  philosophy,  precisely  the  same.  The 
eagerness  to  cast  blame  on  old  England  in  the  one  case,  and  on  New 
England  in  the  other,  does  not  disprove  the  sameness  of  the  two 
things. 

And  how  much  would  it  avail  you,  if  you  could,  by  the  use  of 
John  Brown,  Helper's  Book,  and  the  like,  break  up  the  Republican 
organization?  Human  action  can  be  modified  to  some  extent,  but 
human  nature  cannot  be  changed.  There  is  a  judgment  and  a  feeling 
against  slavery  in  this  nation,  which  cast  at  least  a  million  and  a 
half  of  votes.  You  cannot  destroy  that  judgment  and  feeling — that 
sentiment — by  breaking  up  the  political  organization  which  rallies 
around  it.  You  can  scarcely  scatter  and  disperse  an  army  which 
has  been  formed  into  order  in  the  face  of  your  heaviest  fire;  but  if 
you  could,  how  much  would  you  gain  by  forcing  the  sentiment  which 
created  it  out  of  the  peaceful  channel  of  the  ballot-box  into  some 
other  channel  ?  What  would  that  other  channel  probably  be  ?  Would 
the  number  of  John  Browns  be  lessened  or  enlarged  by  the  operation  ? 

But  you  will  break  up  the  Union  rather  than  submit  to  a  denial 
of  your  constitutional  rights. 

That  has  a  somewhat  reckless  sound;  but  it  would  be  palliated, 
if  not  fully  justified,  were  we  proposing,  by  the  mere  force  of  num- 
bers, to  deprive  you  of  some  right  plainly  written  down  in  the  Con- 
stitution. But  we  are  proposing  no  such  thing. 

When  you  make  these  declarations  you  have  a  specific  and 
well-understood  allusion  to  an  assumed  constitutional  right  of  yours 
to  take  slaves  into  the  Federal  Territories,  and  to  hold  them  there  as 


662  AMERICAN  PROSE 


property.  But  no  such  right  is  specifically  written  in  the  Consti- 
tution. That  instrument  is  literally  silent  about  any  such  right. 
We,  on  the  contrary,  deny  that  such  a  right  has  any  existence  in  the 
Constitution,  even  by  implication. 

Your  purpose,  then,  plainly  stated,  is  that  you  will  destroy  the 
government,  unless  you  be  allowed  to  construe  and  force  the  Con- 
stitution as  you  please,  on  all  points  in  dispute  between  you  and  us. 
You  will  rule  or  ruin  in  all  events. 

This,  plainly  stated,  is  your  language.  Perhaps  you  will  say 
the  Supreme  Court  has  decided  the  disputed  constitutional  question 
in  your  favor.  Not  quite  so.  But  waiving  the  lawyer's  distinction 
between  dictum  and  decision,  the  court  has  decided  the  question  for 
you  in  a  sort  of  way.  The  court  has  substantially  said,  it  is  your 
constitutional  right  to  take  slaves  into  the  Federal  Territories,  and 
to  hold  them  there  as  property.  When  I  say  the  decision  was  made 
in  a  sort  of  way,  I  mean  it  was  made  in  a  divided  court,  by  a  bare 
majority  of  the  judges,  and  they  not  quite  agreeing  with  one  another 
in  the  reasons  for  making  it;  that  it  is  so  made  as  that  its  avowed 
supporters  disagree  with  one  another  about  its  meaning,  and  that 
it  was  mainly  based  upon  a  mistaken  statement  of  fact — the  state- 
ment in  the  opinion  that  "the  right  of  property  in  a  slave  is  distinctly 
and  expressly  affirmed  in  the  Constitution." 

An  inspection  of  the  Constitution  will  show  that  the  right  of 
property  in  a  slave  is  not  "distinctly  and  expressly  affirmed"  in  it. 
Bear  in  mind,  the  judges  do  not  pledge  their  judicial  opinion  that 
such  right  is  impliedly  affirmed  hi  the  Constitution;  but  they  pledge 
their  veracity  that  it  is  "distinctly  and  expressly"  affirmed  there — 
"distinctly,"  that  is,  not  mingled  with  anything  else — "expressly," 
that  is,  hi  words  meaning  just  that,  without  the  aid  of  any  inference, 
and  susceptible  of  no  other  meaning. 

If  they  had  only  pledged  their  judicial  opinion  that  such  right  is 
affirmed  in  the  instrument  by  implication,  it  would  be  open  to  others 
to  show  that  neither  the  word  "slave"  nor  "slavery"  is  to  be  found 
in  the  Constitution,  nor  the  word  "property"  even,  in  any  connec- 
tion with  language  alluding  to  the  things  slave,  or  slavery;  and  that 
wherever  in  that  instrument  the  slave  is  alluded  to,  he  is  called  a 
"person";  and  wherever  his  master's  legal  right  in  relation  to  him 
is  alluded  to,  it  is  spoken  of  as  "service  or  labor  which  may  be  due"— 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  663 

as  a  debt  payable  in  service  or  labor.  Also  it  would  be  open  to  show, 
by  contemporaneous  history,  that  this  mode  of  alluding  to  slaves 
and  slavery,  instead  of  speaking  of  them,  was  employed  on  purpose 
to  exclude  from  the  Constitution  the  idea  that  there  could  be  prop- 
erty in  man. 

To  show  all  this  is  easy  and  certain. 

When  this  obvious  mistake  of  the  judges  shall  be  brought  to 
their  notice,  is  it  not  reasonable  to  expect  that  they  will  withdraw 
the  mistaken  statement,  and  reconsider  the  conclusion  based  upon  it  ? 

And  then  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  "our  fathers  who  framed 
the  government  under  which  we  live" — the  men  who  made  the 
Constitution — decided  this  same  constitutional  question  in  our  favor 
long  ago:  decided  it  without  division  among  themselves  when  making 
the  decision;  without  division  among  themselves  about  the  meaning 
of  it  after  it  was  made,  and,  so  far  as  any  evidence  is  left,  without 
basing  it  upon  any  mistaken  statement  of  facts. 

Under  all  these  circumstances,  do  you  really  feel  yourselves  jus- 
tified to  break  up  this  government  unless  such  a  court  decision  as 
yours  is  shall  be  at  once  submitted  to  as  a  conclusive  and  final  rule 
of  political  action  ?  But  you  will  not  abide  the  election  of  a  Repub- 
lican president!  In  that  supposed  event,  you  say,  you  will  destroy 
the  Union;  and  then,  you  say,  the  great  crime  of  having  destroyed 
it  will  be  upon  us!  That  is  cool.  A  highwayman  holds  a  pistol  to 
my  ear,  and  mutters  through  his  teeth,  "Stand  and  deliver,  or  I 
shall  kill  you,  and  then  you  will  be  a  murderer!" 

To  be  sure,  what  the  robber  demanded  of  me — my  money! — was 
my  own;  and  I  had  a  clear  right  to  keep  it;  but  it  was  no  more  my 
own  than  my  vote  is  my  own;  and  the  threat  of  death  to  me,  to  ex- 
tort my  money,  and  the  threat  of  destruction  to  the  Union,  to  extort 
my  vote,  can  scarcely  be  distinguished  in  principle. 

A  few  words  now  to  Republicans.  It  is  exceedingly  desirable 
that  all  parts  of  this  great  Confederacy  shall  be  at  peace,  and  in 
harmony  one  with  another.  Let  us  Republicans  do  our  part  to  have 
it  so.  Even  though  much  provoked,  let  us  do  nothing  through  pas- 
sion and  ill  temper.  Even  though  the  Southern  people  will  not  so 
much  as  listen  to  us,  let  us  calmly  consider  their  demands,  and  yield 
to  them  if,  in  our  deliberate  view  of  our  duty,  we  possibly  can. 
Judging  by  all  they  say  and  do,  and  by  the  subject  and  nature  of 


664  AMERICAN  PROSE 


their  controversy  with  us,  let  us  determine,  if  we  can,  what  will 
satisfy  them. 

Will  they  be  satisfied  if  the  Territories  be  unconditionally  sur- 
rendered to  them  ?  We  know  they  will  not.  In  all  their  present 
complaints  against  us,  the  Territories  are  scarcely  mentioned.  In- 
vasions and  insurrections  are  the  rage  now.  Will  it  satisfy  them  if, 
in  the  future,  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  invasions  and  insurrections  ? 
We  know  it  will  not.  We  so  know,  because  we  know  we  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  invasions  and  insurrections;  and  yet 
this  total  abstaining  does  not  exempt  us  from  the  charge  and  the 
denunciation. 

The  question  recurs,  What  will  satisfy  them?  Simply  this:  we 
must  not  only  let  them  alone,  but  we  must  somehow  convince  them 
that  we  do  let  them  alone.  This,  we  know  by  experience,  is  no  easy 
task.  We  have  been  so  trying  to  convince  them  from  the  very  be- 
ginning of  our  organization,  but  with  no  success.  In  all  our  plat- 
forms and  speeches  we  have  constantly  protested  our  purpose  to 
let  them  alone;  but  this  has  had  no  tendency  to  convince  them. 
Alike  unavailing  to  convince  them  is  the  fact  that  they  have  never 
detected  a  man  of  us  in  any  attempt  to  disturb  them. 

These  natural  and  apparently  adequate  means  all  failing,  what 
will  convince  them?  This,  and  this  only:  cease  to  call  slavery 
wrong,  and  join  them  in  calling  it  right.  And  this  must  be  done 
thoroughly — done  in  acts  as  well  as  in  words.  Silence  will  not  be 
tolerated — we  must  place  ourselves  avowedly  with  them.  Senator 
Douglas's  new  sedition  law  must  be  enacted  and  enforced,  suppres- 
sing all  declarations  that  slavery  is  wrong,  whether  made  in  politics, 
in  presses,  in  pulpits,  or  in  private.  We  must  arrest  and  return 
their  fugitive  slaves  with  greedy  pleasure.  We  must  pull  down  our 
free-State  constitutions.  The  whole  atmosphere  must  be  disinfected 
from  all  taint  of  opposition  to  slavery,  before  they  will  cease  to  believe 
that  all  their  troubles  proceed  from  us. 

I  am  quite  aware  they  do  not  state  their  case  precisely  in  this 
way.  Most  of  them  would  probably  say  to  us,  "Let  us  alone;  do 
nothing  to  us,  and  say  what  you  please  about  slavery."  But  we  do 
let  them  alone, — have  never  disturbed  them, — so  that,  after  all,  it 
is  what  we  say  which  dissatisfies  them.  They  will  continue  to  accuse 
us  of  doing,  until  we  cease  saying. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  665 

I  am  also  aware  they  have  not  as  yet  in  terms  demanded  the 
overthrow  of  our  free-State  constitutions.  Yet  those  constitutions 
declare  the  wrong  of  slavery  with  more  solemn  emphasis  than  do  all 
other  sayings  against  it;  and  when  all  these  other  sayings  shall  have 
been  silenced,  the  overthrow  of  these  constitutions  will  be  demanded, 
and  nothing  be  left  to  resist  the  demand.  It  is  nothing  to  the  con- 
trary that  they  do  not  demand  the  whole  of  this  just  now.  Demand- 
ing what  they  do,  and  for  the  reason  they  do,  they  can  voluntarily 
stop  nowhere  short  of  this  consummation.  Holding,  as  they  do,  that 
slavery  is  morally  right  and  socially  elevating,  they  cannot  cease  to 
demand  a  full  national  recognition  of  it  as  a  legal  right  and  a  social 
blessing. 

Nor  can  we  justifiably  withhold  this  on  any  ground  save  our 
conviction  that  slavery  is  wrong.  If  slavery  is  right,  all  words,  acts, 
laws,  and  constitutions  against  it  are  themselves  wrong,  and  should 
be  silenced  and  swept  away.  If  it  is  right,  we  cannot  justly  object 
to  its  nationality — its  universality;  if  it  is  wrong,  they  cannot 
justly  insist  upon  its  extension — its  enlargement.  All  they  ask  we 
could  readily  grant,  if  we  thought  slavery  right;  all  we  ask  they 
could  as  readily  grant,  if  they  thought  it  wrong.  Their  think- 
ing it  right  and  our  thinking  it  wrong  is  the  precise  fact  upon 
which  depends  the  whole  controversy.  Thinking  it  right,  as  they 
do,  they  are  not  to  blame  for  desiring  its  full  recognition  as  being 
right;  but  thinking  it  wrong,  as  we  do,  can  we  yield  to  them? 
Can  we  cast  our  votes  with  their  view,  and  against  our  own? 
In  view  of  our  moral,  social,  and  political  responsibilities,  can  we  do 
this? 

Wrong  as  we  think  slavery  is,  we  can  yet  afford  to  let  it  alone 
where  it  is,  because  that  much  is  due  to  the  necessity  arising  from 
its  actual  presence  in  the  nation;  but  can  we,  while  our  votes  will 
prevent  it,  allow  it  to  spread  into  the  national  Territories,  and  to 
overrun  us  here  in  these  free  States?  If  our  sense  of  duty  forbids 
this,  then  let  us  stand  by  our  duty  fearlessly  and  effectively.  Let 
us  be  diverted  by  none  of  those  sophistical  contrivances  wherewith 
we  are  so  industriously  plied  and  belabored — contrivances  such  as 
groping  for  some  middle  ground  between  the  right  and  the  wrong: 
vain  as  the  search  for  a  man  who  should  be  neither  a  living  man  nor 
a  dead  man;  such  as  a  policy  of  "don't  care"  on  a  question  about 


666  AMERICAN  PROSE 


which  all  true  men  do  care;  such  as  Union  appeals  beseeching  true 
Union  men  to  yield  to  Disunionists,  reversing  the  divine  rule,  and 
calling,  not  the  sinners,  but  the  righteous  to  repentance;  such  as 
invocations  to  Washington,  imploring  men  to  unsay  what  Washington 
said  and  undo  what  Washington  did. 

Neither  let  us  be  slandered  from  our  duty  by  false  accusations 
against  us,  nor  frightened  from  it  by  menaces  of  destruction  to  the 
government,  nor  of  dungeons  to  ourselves.  Let  us  have  faith  that 
right  makes  might,  and  in  that  faith  let  us  to  the  end  dare  to  do  our 
duty  as  we  understand  it. 

ADDRESS  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  GETTYSBURG 
NATIONAL  CEMETERY 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth  on  this 
continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  dedicated  to  the 
proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 

Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that 
nation,  or  any  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure. 
We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war.  We  have  come  to 
dedicate  a  portion  of  that  field  as  a  final  resting-place  for  those  who 
here  gave  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether 
fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate — we  cannot  consecrate 
— we  cannot  hallow — this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead, 
who  struggled  here,  have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  poor  power 
to  add  or  detract.  The  world  will  little  note  nor  long  remember 
what  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here. 
It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the 
unfinished  work  which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so 
nobly  advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the 
great  task  remaining  before  us — that  from  these  honored  dead  we 
take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they  gave  the 
last  full  measure  of  devotion;  that  we  here  highly  resolve  that 
these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain;  that  this  nation,  under 
God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom;  and  that  government  of 
the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the 
earth. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  667 

SECOND  INAUGURAL  ADDRESS 

Fellow-countrymen:  At  this  second  appearing  to  take  the  oath  of 
the  presidential  office,  there  is  less  occasion  for  an  extended  address 
than  there  was  at  the  first.  Then  a  statement,  somewhat  in  detail, 
of  a  course  to  be  pursued,  seemed  fitting  and  proper.  Now,  at  the 
expiration  of  four  years,  during  which  public  declarations  have  been 
constantly  called  forth  on  every  point  and  phase  of  the  great  contest 
which  still  absorbs  the  attention  and  engrosses  the  energies  of  the 
nation,  little  that  is  new  could  be  presented.  The  progress  of  our 
arms,  upon  which  all  else  chiefly  depends,  is  as  well  known  to  the 
public  as  to  myself;  and  it  is,  I  trust,  reasonably  satisfactory  and 
encouraging  to  all.  With  high  hope  for  the  future,  no  prediction  in 
regard  to  it  is  ventured. 

On  the  occasion  corresponding  to  this  four  years  ago,  all  thoughts 
were  anxiously  directed  to  an  impending  civil  war.  All  dreaded  it — all 
sought  to  avert  it.  While  the  inaugural  address  was  being  delivered 
from  this  place,  devoted  altogether  to  saving  the  Union  without  war, 
insurgent  agents  were  in  the  city  seeking  to  destroy  it  without  war — 
seeking  to  dissolve  the  Union,  and  divide  effects,  by  negotiation. 
Both  parties  deprecated  war;  but  one  of  them  would  make  war 
rather  than  let  the  nation  survive;  and  the  other  would  accept  war 
rather  than  let  it  perish.  And  the  war  came. 

One-eighth  of  the  whole  population  were  colored  slaves,  not 
distributed  generally  over  the  Union,  but  localized  in  the  Southern 
part  of  it.  These  slaves  constituted  a  peculiar  and  powerful  interest. 
All  knew  that  this  interest  was,  somehow,  the  cause  of  the  war.  To 
strengthen,  perpetuate,  and  extend  this  interest  was  the  object  for 
which  the  insurgents  would  rend  the  Union,  even  by  war;  while  the 
government  claimed  no  right  to  do  more  than  to  restrict  the  terri- 
torial enlargement  of  it. 

Neither  party  expected  for  the  war  the  magnitude  or  the  duration 
which  it  has  already  attained.  Neither  anticipated  that  the  cause 
of  the  conflict  might  cease  with,  or  even  before,  the  conflict  itself 
should  cease.  Each  looked  for  an  easier  triumph,  and  a  result  less 
fundamental  and  astounding.  Both  read  the  same  Bible,  and  pray 
to  the  same  God;  and  each  invokes  his  aid  against  the  other.  It 
may  seem  strange  that  any  men  should  dare  to  ask  a  just  God's 
assistance  in  wringing  their  bread  from  the  sweat  of  other  men's 


668  AMERICAN  PROSE 


faces;  but  let  us  judge  not,  that  we  be  not  judged.  The  prayers 
of  both  could  not  be  answered — that  of  neither  has  been  answered 
fully. 

The  Almighty  has  his  own  purposes.  "Woe  unto  the  world 
because  of  offenses!  for  it  must  needs  be  that  offenses  come;  but  woe 
to  that  man  by  whom  the  offense  cometh."  If  we  shall  suppose  that 
American  slavery  is  one  of  those  offenses  which,  in  the  providence  of 
God,  must  needs  come,  but  which,  having  continued  through  his 
appointed  time,  he  now  wills  to  remove,  and  that  he  gives  to  both 
North  and  South  this  terrible  war,  as  the  woe  due  to  those  by  whom 
the  offense  came,  shall  we  discern  therein  any  departure  from  those 
divine  attributes  which  the  believers  in  a  living  God  always  ascribe 
to  him  ?  Fondly  do  we  hope — fervently  do  we  pray — that  this  mighty 
scourge  of  war  may  speedily  pass  away.  Yet,  if  God  wills  that  it 
continue  until  all  the  wealth  piled  by  the  bondman's  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  of  unrequited  toil  shall  be  sunk,  and  until  every  drop 
of  blood  drawn  with  the  lash  shall  be  paid  by  another  drawn  with 
the  sword,  as  was  said  three  thousand  years  ago,  so  still  it  must  be 
said,  "The  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  true  and  righteous  altogether." 

With  malice  toward  none;  with  charity  for  all;  with  firmness  in 
the  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  let  us  strive  on  to  finish 
the  work  we  are  in;  to  bind  up  the  nation's  wounds;  to  care  for  him 
who  shall  have  borne  the  battle,  and  for  his  widow,  and  his  orphan — 
to  do  all  which  may  achieve  and  cherish  a  just  and  lasting  peace 
among  ourselves,  and  with  all  nations. 


NOTES 


NOTES 

JOHN  SMITH 

(1)  A  TRUE  RELATION.    The  text  is  from  the  1608  edition.    A  colony  had 
just  been  established  at  Jamestown,  Virginia,  and  Smith  was  exploring  the  sur- 
rounding country.     U  ye  river:    the   Chickahominy,  a   tributary  of   the  James. 
^osey  =  oozy.     If  This  occasioned  .   ...  the  barge:    the  sentence  is  left  incom- 
plete.    1f/Ae»=than. 

(2)  lacke  =  lake.     ^  at  home:    Jamestown,  where  there  had  been  quarrels  and 
jealousies,     ^adventurers  in  england:    the  "Merchant  Adventurers"  who  were 
financing  the  colony,     fl  bought*  =  bends,     ^prevented = anticipated. 

(3)  I  perceived  ....  woods:    it  is  clear  from  another  work  by  Smith 
referring  to  the  same  scene,  says  Arber,  that  the  sentence  should  have  been  finished 
by  some  such  words  as,  "that  they  were  a  party  hunting  deer."     ^ points  =  laces. 

(4)  A  MAP  OF  VIRGINIA.    The  text  is  from  the  1612  edition.     ^cautelous  = 
cautious,  wary.     ^  artificially  =  artfully. 

(5)  chape:  the  tip  of  a  scabbard.     H  springs  =  shoots. 

(6)  presently  =  quickly.     1f  wear  es=  weirs,  dams.     U  Tar  gets  =  targes,  shields. 

(7)  trucking** barter.     If  bowing = burning? 

WILLIAM  BRADFORD 

(7)  OF  PLIMOTH  PLANTATION.    From  chapter  10  of  Book  I;   and  from  the 
entries  under  the  years  1620  and  1628  in  Book  II.    The  text  is  from  the  i8g8  edi- 
tion, printed  from  the  original  manuscript.     7  ye = the.     ^sprea  =  spray. 

(8)  y*=that.     1fo/=off.     ^  taped = lapped,  wrapped. 

(9)  randevoue  =  rendezvous.     H  charged  =  loaded.     \mr.=  master. 

(n)  bear  up:  go  to  leeward.     \  Northerns  parts  of  Virginia:  i.e.,  what  is  now 
called  New  England. 

(14)  adventure:  investment.     H  Furnefells  Inne:  lawyers'  quarters  in  London. 

(15)  powering= pouring.     \  M ounte-Dagon:   Dagon    was    the    god    of   the 
Philistines. 

THOMAS  MORTON 

(16)  NEW  ENGLISH  CANAAN.     From  Book  III,  chapter  14.     The  text  is 
from  the  1637  edition.     Tf  solemne  =  festive,     ^festivall  day  of  Philip  and  Jacob: 
May  i.     ^one=on.      U  seperatists:    the  Pilgrims  were  so   called   because   they 
had  separated  from  the  English  Church.     U  gammedes:    Ganymede,  the  gods' 
cup-bearer. 

(17)  hers  =  here's.     \Irish  stuff  nor  Scotch:  i.e.,  whiskey.     K  Muit=mint; 
cf.  Matt.  23:23. 

671 


672  AMERICAN  PROSE 


JOHN  WINTHROP 

(17)  A  PURITAN  TO  His  WIFE.  The  text  is  from  the  Appendix  to  Vol.  I  of 
Winthrop's  History  of  New  England,  the  1825  edition,  printed  from  the  original 
manuscript.  H  Charleton  =  Charlestown. 

(19)  THE  HISTORY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.    The  text  is  from  the  1825  edition. 
J  12  mo.  3:   twelfth  month,  third  day. 

(20)  lectures:    mid-week  sermons,     f  general  court:    the  legislature,     ^  con- 
vented  =  called  before  a  court.     Ha  schoolmaster:    Eaton  was  really  the  head  of 
Harvard  College,  then  no  more  than  a  school,     f  gate  =  got. 

(21)  leave  =  leave  off,  stop. 

(22)  marks:  an  English  mark  was  13  shillings,  4  pence. 

(23)  truss  =  bundle.     1f  curiously  =  carefully. 

(24)  Gorton:  Samuel  Gorton.    Winthrop  adds  later:  "The  court  finding  that 
Gorton  and  his  company  did  harm  in  the  towns  where  they  were  confined,  and  not 
knowing  what  to  do  with  them,  at  length  agreed  to  set  them  at  liberty  [in  1644], 
and  gave  them  14  days  to  depart  out  of  our  jurisdiction  in  all  parts,  and  no  more 
to  come  into  it  upon  pain  of  death.     This  censure  was  thought  too  light  and 
favourable." 

(25)  parts = abilities. 

(28)  grains = prongs,     f  conversation =way  of  life.     \the  last  day:  i.e.,  of  the 
week;  the  Puritan  Sunday  began  on  Saturday,  at  sunset. 

THOMAS  SHEPARD 

(29)  THE  SINCERE  CONVERT.    From  chapter  5.    The  text  is  from  the  1655 
edition. 

(32)  a  proof:  a  passage  of  Scripture  proving  the  doctrine  of  the  sermon. 

(33)  Precisians:    too  precise  persons,  especially  in  religion  and  morals;    a 
term  often  used  of  the  Puritans. 


ROGER  WILLIAMS 

(33)  THE  BLOUDY  TENENT  OF  PERSECUTION  FOR  CAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 
The  text  is  from  the  first  edition,  1644. 

(34)  blood  of  the  Soules  crying  for  vengeance  under  the  Altar:  cf.  Rev.  6  :  9,  10. 
U  John  Cotton:    the  leading  Congregationalist  clergyman  of  Massachusetts.     If  The 
Aforesaid  Arguments:  arguments  in  a  letter  by  Williams  to  Cotton. 

(36)  Righteousnes  and  Peace  shall  kisse  each  other:   cf.  Ps.  85:10. 

(37)  not  Pro  Domina  ....   Veritate:    "not  for  Mistress  Queen  but  for 
Mistress  Truth." 

(38)  Absaloms:  see  II  Sam.  16:22. 

(41)  admired  =  wondered  at.  f  Gardiners,  Boners:  Stephen  Gardiner  and 
Edmund  Bonner,  English  bishops,  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  persecution  of 
Protestants  under  Queen  Mary  (1553-58).  IF  John  Bus:  a  Bohemian  religious 
reformer,  who  was  burned  at  the  stake  for  heresy  in  1415. 


NOTES  673 


NATHANIEL  WARD 

(42)  THE  SIMPLE  COBLEB.  OF  AGGAWAM.    The  text  is  from  the  first  edition, 
1647. 

(43)  Beelzebub  can  fly-blow:   "Beelzebub"  means  "the  god  of  flies."     \  pre- 
varicate =  turn  aside  from   the  path,     ^laborare   varicibus:    "be  troubled  with 
varicose  veins."     K  Paracelsian:    Paracelsus  (1493-1541)  has  been  called  "the 
father  of  chemistry";  cf.  the  end  of  the  sentence,     If  well  complexioned  for  honesty: 
having  an  honest  look.     ^  pudder  =  stii  about.     1f  ponderous  =  given  to  pondering, 
thoughtful.     TI  recollect  =  compose.     Tf  Colluvies:  "impure  conflux,"  "vile  medley." 

(44)  se<ftttoy  =  sedulousness.     ^  Familists:   a  sect  calling  itself  the  Family  of 
Love.     If  Antlnomians:    those  who  held  that  Christians  were  released  from  the 
moral    law.     fl  Anabaptists:     Baptists.       ^  Professor s:     professors   of    religion. 
\  distate  =  remove  from  its  state  or  position. 

(45)  Akhymized  coines:    counterfeits  made  of  baser  metals,     fl  Ignis  pro- 
balionis:  "fire  of  proof,"  i.e.,  fire  used  as  a  means  of  testing,     fl  congregare  .... 
heterogenia:   "bring  together  the  like,  and  separate  the  unlike."     ^Leopard-like: 
spotted,  not  uniform.     ^  traverse  =  cross,  thwart.     ^  Sconce = tort.     ^  Jannes  and 
Jambres:  Egyptian  magicians  who  withstood  Moses;  see  II  Tim.  3:8.    1f  Augus- 
tines:  Augustine  (354-430)  was  the  greatest  of  the  Latin  Church  Fathers. 

(46)  Nullum  ....  errandi:   "There  is  no  greater  evil  than  liberty  to 
err."    fl  quick  =  alive.    ^  Conversation  =wayoi life.    If  Redendem  ....  prohibit: 
"Laughingly  to  tell  the  truth,  what  forbids  ?"    "Redendem"  should  be  "ridentem"; 
"prohibit"  should  be  "prohibet."     U  bravery =&ne  dress.    If  bully  «kwg=bulli- 
mong,  a  mixture  of  various  kinds  of  grain;    used  figuratively  here.     ]drossock  = 
drassock,  a  drab,  an  untidy  woman. 

(47)  nugiperous  =  trifles-bearing.      ^  nudiuslertian=mnde    three    days    ago. 
H&t'»=ken.     IT  transclouts:    transforms  by  the  cloths  they  wear.     Ts***<=gannet, 
gander.    If  bar-geese:   a  kind  of  wild  geese.    \  shotten:   a  term  used  of  fish  that 
have  emitted  their  spawn.     ^drailes  =  trailing  head-dress.     ^  Kits:   small  fiddles. 
H  pegma's:   movable  machines  used  in  old  pageants.     H  gut-foundred:   a  reference 
to  the  fact  that  silk  comes  from  the  entrails  of  caterpillars. 

(48)  tripe-wifted:    an  allusion  to  the  same  thing  explained  in  the  preceding 
note,  "tripe"  being  formerly  used  for  "entrails";  "wifted"  is  a  mistake  for  "wifed," 
the  reading  of  a  later  edition.    ^  sadly  =  seriously.    ^  convenient = fitting.    If  M ar- 
mosets:  small  monkeys.     ^futilous  =  futile,  trifling.     If  pettitoes:  pigs'  toes.     If  per- 
quisquilian  =  trifling,  worthless.     ^  mistery  =  trade.    ^  The  joyning  of  the  Red-Rose 
with  the  White:  an  allusion  to  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  when 
the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  contended  with  each  other  for  the  throne  of 
England.     1  Damask:   the  word  means  a  rose  color,  and  the  reference  here  is  to 
the  blood  shed  in  the  war.    f  Flore  de  lices:   fleurs-de-lis.    If  overturcas'd  =  covered 
over  with  turquoises.     H  preferre  =  present.     H  Essex  Ladies:    "All  the  Counties 
and  shires  of  England  have  had  wars  in  them  since  the  Conquest,  but  Essex,  which 
is  onely  free,  and  should  be  thankfull." — Marginal  note  in  the  original  edition. 
If  Chore  =  choir.     If  Le  Roy  le  veult:   "The  king  wills  it."    H  Les  Seigneurs  ont 
Assentus:   "The  lords  have  assented." 


674  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(49)  renite  =  resist.      If  president = protector.      IT  surguedryes:     for    "surque- 
dryes"=  arrogances,     ^provoking:     "calling  forth"  punishment.     If  prodromies - 
forerunners.    H  judgement  =  doom,  condemnation.    If  pannage:  the  food  of  swine  in 
the  woods,  as  acorns.     1f  the  present  dokfull  estate  of  the  Realme:  the  war  between 
the  king's  party  and  the  Puritans  was  then  raging. 

JOHN  MASON 

(50)  A  BRIEF  HISTORY  or  THE  PEQUOT  WAR.    The  text  is  from  the  1736 
edition,  the  first  complete  one.    The  Pequot  Indians,  the  most  warlike  in  southern 
New  England,  became  so  great  a  danger  to  the  colonists  in  Connecticut  that  a 
concerted  effort  was  made  to  subdue  them.    Captain  John  Mason,  who  had  been  a 
soldier  in  the  Netherlands,  at  the  head  of  ninety  men  and  aided  by  Captain  John 
Underbill,  of  Boston,  attacked  the  Pequot  forts  on  the  Mystic  River  in  1637  and 
slew  some  six  hundred  of  the  savages;   the  blow  crippled  their  power,  and  they 
kept  the  peace  for  forty  years.    ^  with  about  five  hundred  Indians:   Narragansetts 
and  Mohegans,  timid  foes  of  the  Pequots.     ^Alta=halt.     ^Onkos:    chief  of  the 
Mohegans,  who  had  seceded  from  the  Pequots;   the  name  is  more  common  in  the 
form  "Uncas." 

(51)  Sassocous:    Sassacus,  the  head  chief  of  the  Pequots.    ^seeing  our  Pin- 
naces sail  by:   the  expedition  had  started  by  boat  from  Saybrook  the  week  before; 
instead  of  putting  into  the  mouth  of  the  Pequot,  or  Thames,  as  the  Indians  had 
expected,  it  sailed  to  Narragansett  Bay,  landed,  and  marched  back  to  the  Pequot 
country,  by  this  ruse  taking  the  Indians  unawares. 

(52)  Champion  =  champaign;  flat  and  open. 

(54)  making  them  as  a  fiery  Chen:  Ps.  21:9.  ^  Thus  were  the  Stout  Hearted 
spoiled,  etc.:  cf.  Ps.  76:5,  "The  stouthearted  are  spoiled,  they  have  slept 
their  sleep:  and  none  of  the  men  of  might  have  found  their  hands."  H  Thus  did 
the  Lord  judge,  etc.:  cf.  Ps.  no:  6,  "He  shall  judge  among  the  heathen,  he  shall 
fill  the  places  with  the  dead  bodies." 

MARY  ROWLANDSON 

(S4)  A  NARRATIVE  OF  THE  CAPTIVITY.  The  text  is  from  a  photographic 
facsimile  of  the  second  American  edition,  1682.  Mrs.  Rowlandson  was  the  wife 
of  the  minister  in  Lancaster,  Massachusetts;  the  attack  upon  the  town  was  a  part 
of  the  concerted  rising  of  the  Indians  of  New  England  which  is  called  King  Philip's 
War,  from  the  leader,  King  Philip,  the  shrewd  and  powerful  chief  of  the 
Wampanoags. 

(56)  Come,  behold  the  works  of  the  Lord,  etc.:  Ps.  46  :  8. 

(57)  whither— whether.     ^Praying  Indians:    the  common  name  then  for 
Indians  who  had  professed  Christianity. 

(58)  my  master:   the  Indian  to  whose  keeping  she  had  been  especially  com- 
mitted.   U  Nux:   Indian  for  "yes." 

(59)  Redemption:    her  ransom.     H  Sannup:    Indian  for  "husband."     H  pres- 
ently =  at  once. 

(60)  Philip:   King  Philip.    H  you  shol  be  Mistress:   i.e.,  reunited  with  her 


NOTES  675 


(62)  the  Wine  of  astonishment:  Ps.  60:3.    If  Itisgoodfor  me,  etc.:  Ps.  119:71. 
IT  Vanity  of  vanities,  and  vexation  of  spirit:   Eccles.  i :  i,  14. 

INCREASE  MATHER 

(63)  AN  ESSAY  FOR  THE  RECORDING  OF  ILLUSTRIOUS  PROVIDENCES.    From 
chapters  5  and  8.    The  text  is  from  the  1684  edition. 

(64)  Saveall:   a  small  pan  fitted  to  the  socket  of  a  candle-stick,  by  means  of 
which  the  candle  may  be  burnt  to  the  end. 

(65)  Peel:    a  spade-like  implement  •  for  taking  loaves  from  an  oven,  etc. 
\Beesom= broom. 

(66)  Piggin:  a  small  wooden  pail. 

(67)  Proba:   "proof."    H  Responsum  ....  indicium:   "Reply  to  the  high 
council  of  Holland,  that  floating  on  the  surface  is  no  sign  of  witches." 

(68)  Gadarens  Hoggs:   see  Mark  5. 

(70)  Nihil  ....  intuentium:  "Nothing  which  is  done  by  magic  can  in 
the  water  deceive  the  sight  of  spectators." 

COTTON  MATHER 

(71)  THE  WONDERS  OF  THE  INVISIBLE  WORLD.    The  text  is  from  the  1693 
edition.    If  Oyer  and  Terminer:   "To  hear  and  determine." 

(74)  years:  apparently  an  error  for  "months." 

(75)  presently = immediately. 

(76)  Poppets:  it  was  believed  that  witches  by  sticking  pins  into  such  figures, 
tormented  the  persons  whom  the  puppets  represented.     ^  Entertained = occupied, 
busied. 

(77)  MAGNALIA  CHRISTI  AMERICANA.    The  title  means  "The  Great  Things 
of  Christ  in  America."    The  subtitle  is  The  Ecclesiastical  History  of  New  England. 
From  Books  II,  HI,  and  VI.    The  text  is  from  the  1702  edition.     If  Captain 
Phips:   Sir  William  Phipps  was  a  native  of  Maine;    he  served  as  governor  of 
Massachusetts  from  1692  to  1694.    His  second  search  for  the  treasure  was  made 
in  1687,  and  resulted  in  the  recovery  of  about  $1,500,000.     \Incertum  quo  Fata 
ferant:  "Uncertain  whither  the  Fates  may  bear."    H  White-Hall:  a  royal  palace  in 
London.     H  Experiment = testing  by  experience. 

(78)  Port  de  la  Plata:  the  mouth  of  La  Plata  River,  South  America.    1f  Busking 
= cruising,    f  as  fair  a  Triumph  as  Caligula's:  the  Roman  emperor  Caligula,  on 
his  return  from  Gaul  with  much  plunder,  in  39  A.D.,  received  an  ovation,  or  minor 
triumph. 

(80)  Thomas  Hooker:  he  was  a  graduate  and  fellow  of  Cambridge  Univer- 
sity, and  a  clergyman  in  the  English  Church;  in  1630  he  was  summoned  before  the 
Court  of  High  Commission  because  of  his  Puritanism,  and  fled  to  Holland;  he 
returned  to  England  in  1633  on  the  way  to  America.  ^  Athanasius:  one  of  the 
Church  Fathers,  living  in  the  fourth  century.  ^Luther  and  Melanclhon:  these 
leaders  of  the  Reformation  were  of  different  types,  the  former  being  a  man  of  great 
natural  robustness,  the  latter  a  scholar  of  keen  intellectuality.  1f  New-Town: 
Cambridge.  1f  Sitna  ....  Esek  ....  Reho-both:  the  words  mean,  respec- 
tively, "Contention,"  "Hatred,"  and  "Room";  see  Gen,  26:19-22. 


676  AMERICAN  PROSE 

(81)  another  Colony:    Hartford. 

(82)  Three  United  Colonies:    Boston,  Plymouth,  Salem.     ^witting= wishing. 

(83)  Dog  .    .    .    .  R:    "R"  was  called  the  "Dog's  Letter"  because  it  was 
supposed  to  be  the  chief  sound  in  a  dog's  growl.    H  Sesquipedalla  Verba:   "words  a 
foot  and  a  half  long."    U  pregnant  =  full  of  ability.    ^wiUy=  intelligent,    \towardly 
=  not  fro  ward,  docile.    If  Ingenuity  =  ingenuousness,  frankness. 

(84)  Sadducism:    skepticism,  especially  disbelief  in  spirits;    cf.  Acts  23:8, 
"  For  the  Sadducees  say  there  is  no  resurrection,  neither  angel,  nor  spirit." 

(85)  Ann  Cole:    at  the  Salem  witch  trials  she  testified  to  being  tormented 
by  the  witches,  particularly  when  she  sought  refuge  in  the  Rock,  i.e.,  Christ. 

(87)  Conversation  =way  of  life.     \  convenient^ fitting.     If  entertain^ engage 
the  attention  of. 

(88)  Mischief =mjwy. 

SAMUEL  SEWALL 

(89)  THE  DIARY.   The  text  is  that  published  by  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society,  from  the  original  manuscript. 

(90)  Mane:    "morning."     ^Lecture-Day:    the  day  of  the  mid-week  sermon. 
If  Cross  to  be  put  into  the  Colours:   on  account  of  Puritan  scruples  the  cross  of  the 
British  flag  had  been  left  out  of  the  flags  of  the  colony's  military  companies,  as 
savoring  of  Popery;    see  Hawthorne's  "Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross"  in  Twice- 
Told  Tales. 

(92)  were  executed  at  Salem:  the  crime  alleged  was  witchcraft.     U  press'd  to 
death  for  standing  mute:    Giles  Corey,  eighty-one  years  old,  was  indicted  at  Salem 
for  witchcraft;    he  refused  to  plead  either  guilty  or  not  guilty,  believing  that  if  he 
did  so  and  were  convicted  his  will  would  be  invalidated;    for  the  benefit  of  his 
heirs  he  therefore  incurred  the  horrible  penalty  of  the  English  law  for  "standing 
mute"  in  the  face  of  an  indictment.     ^Joseph:   this  sinful  son  was  then  four 
years  old.    1  Adam's  carriage:   Gen.  3: 10,  "I  heard  thy  voice  in.  the  garden,  and  I 
was  afraid,   ....  and  I  hid  myself."     ^  Cousin-Germans:  first  cousins. 

(93)  the  little  posthumous:    a  still-born  child,     f  the  President:    Increase 
Mather,  President  of  Harvard  College.    If  Copy  of  the  Bill  I  put  up  on  the  Fast  day: 
the  reaction  in  the  colony  from  the  state  of  mind  that  led  to  the  execution  of  sup- 
posed witches  at  Salem,  in  1692,  was  quick  and  widespread,  and  in  1697  a  day  of 
prayer  and  fasting  (January  14)  was  appointed  as  an  expression  of  repentance  for 
any  wrong  that  had  been  done  "in  the  late  tragedy."    Sewall  had  been  one  of  the 
judges  at  the  trials,    f  Oyer  and  Terminer:   "To  hear  and  determine." 

(94)  Ten  Companies,  8,  Muddy  River  and  Sconce:   eight  companies  belonged 
to  Boston,  one  to  Muddy  River,  and  one  to  the  sconce,  or  fort,  near  Boston. 

(95)  pleaded  much  for  Negros:    Sewall  was  one  of  the  earliest  opponents  of 
slavery  at  a  time  when  slaves  were  not  uncommon  in  New  England.    1f  Psal.  27.10: 
"When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  will  take  me  up." 
\Feria  Sexta:   "Sixth  Day."     1ftoW= counted.     \  Capt.  Quelch  and  six  others: 
they  were  pirates. 

(96)  Feria  septima:    "seventh  Day." 


NOTES  677 


(97)  8r.:    October.     T  Madam  Winthrop's:    Katherine  Winthrop,  twice  a 
widow;    she  was  now  fifty-six  years  old.     1f  my  loving  wife  died  so  soon:    Sewall's 
second  wife  had  died  four  months  before,  on  May  26.    He  was  now  in  his  sixty- 
ninth  year.     If  convenient  =  fitting,    f  Castle:   the  fort  near  Boston. 

(98)  Mr.  Belcher's  Cake  and  Ginger-Bread:   the  thrifty  wooer  had  been  given 
these  delicacies  on  leaving  Mr.  Belcher's  house  the  day  before. 

(99)  a' first  and  second  Vagary:   the  first  "vagary"  was  the  widow  Denison, 
whom  he  had  courted  soon  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife,  in  1717,  although  Madam 
Winthrop  had  already  been  "commended"  to  him  by  her  relatives;   the  second 
"vagary"  was  his  second  wife. 

(100)  Stone-House:   the  prison.     If  Hannah  3  oranges  with  her  Duty:    i.e.,  a 
gift,  with  respects,  from  his  daughter  Hannah. 

(102)  Jehovah  jireh:   "The  Lord  will  provide."    1f  South:  the  south  end  of 
the  town;    cf.  text,  14  lines  below. 

(103)  Isaac  Moses's  Writing:    Moses  was  an  Indian. 

(104)  /0«d=foolish. 

SARAH  K.  KNIGHT 

(105)  THE  JOURNAL.    The  text  is  from  the  1825  edition,  printed  from  the 
original  manuscript.    ^Billings:   an  error  for  "Belcher."    f  Pieces  of  eight :   Span- 
ish piasters,  coins  of  about  the  value  of  the  American  dollar;   so  called  because 
worth  eight  reals. 

(106)  pss.  =piece.     ^eminent:    error  for  "imminent."      U Parismus  and  the 
Knight  of  the  Oracle:  romances  by  Emanuel  Forde,  of  the  Elizabethan  Age.    f  ver- 
sall:   vulgar  for  "universal,"  meaning  "whole";    cf.  the  Nurse's  "versal  world" 
in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  II,  scene  iv,  1.  219. 

(107)  /M«&=pipe?     1f  Rung=  having  a  ring  through  the  snout,     f  Lento  = 
lean-to;  an  addition  to  the  main  building,  with  a  single-pitch  roof.    ^  Sad-colourd  = 
dark-colored.     If  the  Ordnary:    the  charge  for  the  dinner;     the  regular,  ordinary 
meal  was  so  called,  in  distinction  from  one  specially  ordered. 

(108)  nor  so  much  as  think  on  Lott's  wife:   "But  his  [Lot's]  wife  looked  back." 
— Gen.  19:26.    If  Stage  =  resting-place. 

(109)  ye  Children  in  the  wood:   an  allusion  to  the  ballad  of  the  two  children 
who  were  left  to  die  in  the  wood.    ^  Left.  =  lieutenant;  the  spelling  represents  the 
old  pronunciation,  still  used  in  England.     ^  Insigne  =  ensign. 

(no)  Sophister:    another  allusion  to  the  landlord's  name  being.  "Devil," 
with  a  reference  to  the  specious  reasoning  by  which  the  Devil  deludes  men. 
(m)  shores  =  props.    H  muscheeto's  =  musta.chios. 

WILLIAM   BYRD 

(113)  HISTORY  OF  THE  DIVIDING  LINE.  The  text  of  this  selection  and  the 
next  follows,  by  permission,  that  of  the  1901  edition  of  Byrd's  works,  edited  by 
J.  S.  Bassett,  which  is  printed  from  the  original  manuscript.  Byr'd  was  one  of  the 
commissioners  appointed  to  determine  the  boundary  line  between  Virginia  and 
North  Carolina.  The  line  ran  through  the  Great  Dismal  Swamp,  which  the 


678  AMERICAN  PROSE 


surveyors  entered  on  the  east ,  while  the  commissioners  went  around  the  southern 
end  and  awaited  them  on  the  western  edge. 

(117)  Bantam:   a  seaport  in  Java. 

(119)  Faustina  ....  Farinelli:  popular  singers  of  the  time. 

(119)  A  PROGRESS  TO  THE  MINES.    Byrd,  who  owned  much  land,  was  inter- 
ested in  the  development  of  the  colony's  natural  resources,  and  visited  several 
iron  mines  in  the  year  1732 . 

(120)  Exchange:    a  reference  to  the  noisy  and  sometimes  rash  way  of  doing 
business  in  public  exchanges,  like  the  modern  Wali  Street,    f  tne  16000:   the  legal 
salary  for  a  clergyman  in  Virginia  was  16,000  pounds  of  tobacco,  which  was  much 
used  for  currency,    f  Goockland:  one  of  the  counties  in  Virginia. 

(121)  Smart  =  elegantly  dressed. 

JONATHAN  EDWARDS 

(122)  THE  SWEET  GLORY  OF  GOD.     Part  of  a  manuscript  found  among 
Edwards'  papers.    The  text  is  from  Samuel  Hopkins'  Life  of  Jonathan  Edwards 
(1765),  where  it  is  printed  from  the  original. 

(124)  SINNERS  IN  THE  HANDS  OF  AN  ANGRY  GOD.  A  part  of  the  last  division 
of  the  sermon,  called  "Application"  or  "Use."  The  text  is  from  the  1745  edition. 

(128)  ENQUIRY  INTO  THE  FREEDOM  OF  THE  WILL.  From  Part  II,  section  6. 
The  text  is  from  the  1754  edition. 

JOHN  WOOLMAN 

(133)  THE  JOURNAL.  From  chapters  2,  8,  and  12.  The  text  is  from  the 
1774  edition.  ^  this  journey:  a  journey  through  Pennsylvania,  Maryland,  Vir- 
ginia, and  North  Carolina,  in  1746. 

J.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVECCEUR 

(138)  LETTERS  FROM  AN  AMERICAN  FARMER.    The  text  is  from  Lewisohn's 
reprint  (1004)  of  the  1782  edition. 

(139)  eastern  provinces:  New  England. 

(140)  other  governments:  i.e.,  other  American  Colonies. 

(141)  the  whole  were  banished:   3,000  Acadians  were  deported  by  the  British 
in  1755,  for  supposed  disloyalty.    %  Ubi  pants  ibi  patria:   "Where  one's  bread  is, 
there  is  one's  fatherland." 

(145)  track = tract. 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

(148)  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  The  text  is  from  the  1817  edition,  by  W.  T. 
Franklin,  Franklin's  grandson  and  literary  executor,  who  says  that  the  work  is 
"printed  literally  from  the  original  autograph."  H  dying  =  dyeing.  U  emmets = ants. 

(151)  chapmen's  books:  books  containing  songs,  ballads,  and  other  popular 
matter,  sold  by  chapmen,  or  peddlers. 

(155)  transformed:  error  for  "transferred."  If  Mr.  Whitefield:  George 
Whitefield  (1714-70),  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Methodist  Church  and  a  very 
eloquent  preacher;  he  visited  America  in  1738,  and  several  times  thereafter. 


NOTES  679 


(136)  pistoles:   the  pistole  was  worth  about  $4.0x3. 

(158)  THE  WAY  TO  WEALTH.  The  text  is  that  of  Poor  Richard's  Almanac 
for  1758. 

(162)  felix  quern  faciunt  aliena  pericula  cautum:  "happy  he  whom  the  perils 
of  others  make  cautious." 

(164)  Goa/=gaol,  jail. 

(165)  the  Stone  that  mil  turn  all  your  lead  into  Gold:  in  the  Middle  Ages  many 
believed  in  the  existence  of  a  "philosopher's  stone,"  which  could  turn  the  baser 
metals  into  gold. 

(166)  THE  EPHEMERA.    The  text  is  from  Jared  Sparks's  edition  of  Franklin's 
works,  in  1836-40,  printed  from  the  original  manuscripts  and  first  editions.    The 
essay  was  written  in  its  present  form  in  1778,  when  Franklin  was  the  American 
ambassador  at  the  court  of  France;  but  in  a  cruder  form  it  had  appeared  in  The 
Pennsylvania  Gazette,  December  4,  1735,  of  which  Franklin  was  then  editor  and 
publisher.    H  Moulin  Joly:  a  small  island  in  the  Seine,  part  of  the  country-seat  of 
another  of  Franklin's  friends,    fl  ephemera:   the  word  is  derived  from  two  Greek 
words  meaning  "over"  and  "day."    If  disputing  warmly  on  the  merit  of  two  foreign 
musicians:    "At  the  time  when  the  letter  was  written,  all  conversations  at  Paris 
were  filled  with  disputes  about  the  music  of  Gluck  and  Picini,  a  German  and  Italian 
musician." — Franklin,  in  a  letter  of  June  17,  1780.  ^cousin:  "gnat."    ^moscheto: 
"mosquito." 

(167)  a  tune:    "She  [Madame  Brillon]  has,  among  other  elegant  accomplish- 
ments, that  of  an  excellent  musician;   and,  with  her  daughters,  who  sing  prettily, 
and  some  friends  who  play,  she  kindly  entertains  me  and  my  grandson  with  little 
concerts,  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  game  of  chess." — Franklin,  in  a  letter  of  June  17, 1780. 
1f  Brillante:  a  play  upon  the  name  of  Madame  Brillon. 

(168)  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  FRANKLIN  AND  THE  GOUT.    The  text  is  from 
Sparks's  edition.    Franklin  was  afflicted  with  gout  at  this  period  of  his  life. 

(169)  Passy,  Auteuil,  Montmartre:    communes  near  Paris,  which  have  since 
been  included  in  the  city. 

(170)  your  fair  friend  at  Auteuil:  Madam  Helvetius,  widow  of  a  philosopher 
and  man  of  letters,  and  herself  the  social  center  of  a  brilliant  literary  circle. 

(171)  grove  of  Boulogne:   the  famous  Bois  de  Boulogne,  near  Paris;   Passy, 
Franklin's  residence,  bordered  upon  it.   H  the  garden  de  laMuette:  just  outside  the  Bois. 

(173)  LETTERS.    The  text  is  from  Sparks's  edition. 

(174)  louis  d'ors:   a  louis  was  worth  about  $5.00. 

(175)  your  father:   Cotton  Mather. 

JOHN  DICKINSON 

(176)  LETTERS  FROM  A  FARMER  m  PENNSYLVANIA.     The  text  is  from  the 
1768  edition. 

(177)  "may  touch  some  wheel":  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  Epistle  1, 1.  59,  "Touches 
some  wheel." 

(179)  Mr.  Hampden's  ship  money  cause:  when  Charles  I  tried  to  revive  an  old 
ship-tax,  without  consent  of  Parliament,  John  Hampden,  a  leader  in  the  popular 
party,  refused  to  pay  his  tax  and  brought  the  case  into  court  in  1637-38. 


68o  AMERICAN  PROSE 


SAMUEL  SEABURY 

(180)  FREE  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PROCEEDINGS  OF  THE  CONTINENTAL  CONGRESS. 
The  text  is  from  the  1774  edition.    The  Congress  referred  to  was  that  which  met  in 
Philadelphia,  September  5,  1774,  and  consisted  of  delegates  from  all  the  colonies 
except  Georgia.     One  of  its  chief  measures  was  the  adoption  of  an  agreement, 
binding  upon  all  the  colonists,  to  stop  all  trade  with  Great  Britain  after  a  certain 
date,  and  it  arranged  for  the  appointment  of  local  committees  to  enforce  the  agree- 
ment.   The  author  of  Free  Thoughts,  who  pretends  to  be  a  farmer,  although  in  all 
probability  he  was  Samuel  Seabury,  an  Episcopalian  clergyman,  addresses  himself 
to  the  farmers  of  New  York  State,  showing  the  loss  this  agreement  will  cause  them. 
H  your  seed:   the  context  shows  that  the  reference  is  to  flax-seed. 

(181)  the  Irish:    they  imported  much  flax-seed  from  America,  to  grow  the 
flax  needed  in  making  the  famous  Irish  linen.    H  oil-mills:  for  making  linseed  oil. 

FRANCIS  HOPKINSON 

(183)  A  PRETTY  STORY.     The  text  is  from  the  1774  edition.     \a  certain 
Nobleman:   the  king  of  Great  Britain,    fl  (economy:   management  of  affairs. 

(184)  Marriage  Articles:    agreements  at  various  times  between  king  and 
Parliament,  particularly  that  taxes  should  not  be  imposed  without  the  consent 
of  Parliament.     If  his  Wife:  Parliament.    V  at  the  End  of  every  seven  Years:  by  the 
Septennial  Act  of  1716  a  new  Parliament  must  be  chosen  at  least  as  often  as  every 
seven  years.    H  until  his  brethren  had  first  declared  him  worthy  of  such  Punishment: 
trial  by  jury.    \  The  Great  Paper:   Magna  Charta,  granted  by  King  John  in  1215. 

(185)  wild  uncultivated  Country:    British  North  America,     \wild  Beasts: 
Indians. 

(186)  a  Bond:  the  charter  of  each  colony.    H  send  to  his  Shop  only:  trade  laws 
early  established  monopolies  for  the  mother-country  in  the  trade  of  the  colonists. 

(187)  Afag«owtwt/y  =  great-mindedness.    1  a  new  Wife,  etc. :  these  wives  were 
the  colonial  legislatures.    H  some  of  their  Neighbours:   the  French  in  Canada,  and 
the  Spanish  in  Florida.    H  several  of  his  Servants:   British  soldiers. 

(188)  should  not  be  permitted  to  have  amongst  them  any  Shears,  etc. :  restrictions 
on  colonial  industries  were  imposed  by  Parliament  early  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
TI  a  certain  Stipend  for  every  Barrel  of  Cyder:   duties  upon  imported  wine  and  rum. 
H  the  most  lazy  and  useless  of  his  Servants:    British  troops  quartered  in  America. 

(189)  supplied  with  Bread  and  Butter:   after  the  French  and  Indian  War,  an 
act  of  Parliament  directed  that  British  troops  in  the  colonies  should  be  supplied 
with  certain  provisions;  the  legislature  of  New  York  refused  to  conform  to  the  law 
in  some  particulars,  and  in  1767  Parliament  suspended  the  legislature.    Cf.  Dick- 
inson's Letters  from  a  Farmer  in  Pennsylvania,  p.  177.    \  his  Steward:   the  prime 
minister  and  other  members  of  the  cabinet.     ^  marked  with  a  certain  Mark:  the 
famous  Stamp  Act  of  1765  required  that  all  legal  instruments  should  bear  gov- 
ernment stamps,  which  must  be  bought  of  officials  appointed  by  the  British 
government. 

(190)  They  met  together:   the  so-called  Stamp  Act  Congress,  attended  by  dele- 
gates from  many  of  the  colonies,  met  in  New  York  in  October,  1765,  and  sent  a 
petition  to  the  king  against  the  act,  which  was  repealed  the  next  year. 


NOTES  68 I 


(191)  Immortal:   it  is  a,  maxim  of  British  law  that  the  king,  i.e.,  the  kingship, 
tan  never  die.    1f  incapable  of  Error:   it  is  another  British  maxim  that  the  king  can 
io  no  wrong. 

(192)  pay  a  certain  Stipend  upon  particular  Goods:   in  1767  Parliament  laid 
duties  upon  tea,  glass,  and  some  other  articles  imported  into  the  colonies.     H  a 
solemn  Engagement:   the  colonists  entered  into  agreements  not  to  import  anything 
from  Great  Britain  until  these  duties  were  removed. 

(193)  Water  Gruel:    tea.     H  certain  Men  on  the  old  Farm:    the  East  India 
Company. 

(194)  Jack:   Massachusetts.    H  stove  to  Pieces  the  Casks  of  Gruel:    at  the 
"Boston  Tea  Party,"  in  1773,  citizens  disguised  as  Indians  threw  into  the  harbor 
the  contents  of  three  hundred  and  forty-two  chests  of  tea.     K  Billingsgate:    the 
coarse  language  of  the  fishwives  at  Billingsgate,  the  center  of  the  fish  trade  in 
London,  became  proverbial. 

(195)  Padlock  ....  upon  Jack's  great  gate:   the  Boston  Port  Bill,  passed 
by  Parliament  in  March,  1774,  dosed  the  port  of  Boston.    \  dragged  to  the  Gallows 
at  the  Mansion  House:  in  April,  1774,  Parliament  provided  that  persons  in  Massa- 
chusetts charged  with  treason  should  be  taken  to  England  for  trial.    U  an  Overseer 
to  hector  and  domineer:    General  Gage,  head  of  the  British  army  in  America,  was 
made  governor  of  Massachusetts. 

(196)  attended  the  Overseer  in  the  great  Parlour:  when  Gage  arrived  in  Boston, 
the  magistrates  and  other  dignitaries  received  him  with  due  honor  and  gave  him  a 
public  dinner;  but  he  soon  made  it  clear  that  he  would  execute  the  new  laws  rigor- 
ously.    H  Bounty  was  handed  to  Jack  over  the  Garden  Wall:    food,  clothing,  and 
money  were  sent  to  Boston,  overland,  from  the  other  colonies.    ^  an  Agreement  not 
to  deal  in  their  Father's  Shop:    a  non-importation  agreement  was  signed  by  the 
members  of  the  Massachusetts  legislature. 

(197)  a  thundering  Prohibition:    Gage  issued  a  proclamation,  denouncing  the 
agreement  as  seditious,  ordering  magistrates  to  arrest  all  signers  of  it,  and  for- 
bidding secret  or  public  meetings.    K  a  Pope's  Bull:   an  edict  by  the  Pope  is  called 
a  "bull,"  from  the  Latin  "bulla,"  seal.    Tf  Ccetera  desunt:   "The  rest  is  lacking." 
The  story  necessarily  stopped  at  this  point,  for  it  had  been  brought  down  almost 
to  the  moment  of  publication.    It  will  be  noticed  that  the  number  of  stars  used  to 
indicate  the  breaking  off  is  thirteen,  one  for  each  colony. 

PATRICK  HENRY 

(197)  SPEECH  m  THE  VIRGINIA  CONVENTION  OF  DELEGATES.    The  text  is 
from  Wirt's  life  of  Henry,  the  1818  edition,  with  change  from  the  third  person  to 
the  first  where  necessary.    The  speech  was  delivered  on  March  28,  1775.     f  listen 
to  the  song  of  that  syren,  till  she  transforms  us  into  beasts:    the  orator  has  confused, 
or  combined,  the  myth  of  the  sirens,  who  lured  men  to  death,  and  that  of  Circe, 
who  by  her  magic  potion  changed  men  into  beasts. 

(198)  having  eyes,  see  not,  etc.:    cf.  Ps.  115:5,  6.     ^betrayed  with  a  kiss:    cf. 
Luke  22:48,  "But  Jesus  said  unto  him,  Judas,  betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  man  with 
a  kiss?" 


682  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(199)  election  =  choice,  alternative.  If  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the 
plains  of  Boston:  an  allusion  to  the  harsh  measures  recently  taken  against  Massa- 
chusetts; see  p.  681.  If  peace,  peace — but  there  is  no  peace:  d.  Jer.  6:14:  "They 
have  healed  also  the  hurt  of  the  daughter  of  my  people  slightly,  saying,  Peace, 
peace;  when  there  is  no  peace."  U  The  war  is  actually  begun:  a  true  forecast  of 
what  was  to  happen  in  three  weeks,  at  Lexington  and  Concord. 


ETHAN  ALLEN 

(200\  A  NARRATIVE  OF  COL.  ETHAN  ALLEN'S  CAPTIVITY.  The  text  is  from 
the  Newbury  edition  of  1780.  f  the  Green  Mountain  boys:  Vermont  militia,  organ- 
ized by  Colonel  Allen.  If  the  fortress  Ticonderoga:  at  the  northern  end  of  Lake 
George,  on  the  outlet  from  that  lake  to  Lake  Champlain.  fl  Bennington:  in  south- 
western Vermont,  about  seventy  miles  from  Ticonderoga. 

THOMAS  PATNE 

(202)  COMMON  SENSE.    The  text  is  from  the  third  edition,  Philadelphia,  1776. 

(203)  Boston;  that  seat  of  wretchedness:   Boston  was  occupied  by  the  British 
army,  while  the  American  army,  under  Washington,  was  besieging  the  city. 

(204)  government:   the  British  government,  as  represented  by  the  army. 

(205)  as  Milton  wisely  expresses:   Paradise  Lost,  IV,  98,  99. 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON 

(203)  THE  UNANIMOUS  DECLARATION  OF  THE  THIRTEEN  UNITED  STATES  OF 
AMERICA.  The  text  is  from  a  reduced  facsimile  of  the  original  document.  The 
declaration,  although  in  the  main  the  work  of  Jefferson,  embodies  various  emenda- 
tions by  John  Adams  and  Benjamin  Franklin. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

(209)  ANSWER  TO  CONGRESS  ON  His  APPOINTMENT  AS  COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF. 
The  text  is  from  Jared  Sparks's  edition  of  Washington's  works,  1840.  f  no  pecuniary 
consideration:  Congress  had  already  fixed  the  salary  of  commahder-in-chief  at 
$500  a  month. 

(209)  To  MRS.  MARTHA  WASHINGTON.    The  text  is  from  Sparks's  edition. 

(211)  A  LETTER  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  OF  CONGRESS.    The  text  is  from  Sparks's 
edition.    H  Valley  Forge:   about  twenty  miles  from  Philadelphia,  on  the  Schuylkill 
River.    ^  the  city:   Philadelphia. 

(212)  battle  of  Brandywine:   on  September  n,  1777.    \  the  surrender  of  Gen- 
eral Burgoyne:   on  October  17,  1777- 

(214)  FAREWELL  ADDRESS.  The  text  is  from  James  Lennox's  reprint  (1850) 
of  the  first  edition.  The  phrasing  of  the  address  is  largely  due  to  Alexander  Hamil- 
ton, who  at  Washington's  request  drew  up  a  draught  of  the  proposed  paper. 


NOTES  683 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 

(216)  THE  FEDERALIST.    No.  XXII.    The  text  is  from  the  1788  edition. 

(219)  nine  states  which  contain  less  than  a  majority  of  the  people:  New  Hamp- 
shire, Rhode  Island,  Connecticut,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Delaware,  Maryland, 
Georgia,  South  Carolina. 

(221)  United  Provinces:  the  Netherlands. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

"For  my  part,  I  consider  a  story  merely  as  a  frame  on  which  to  stretch  my 
materials.  It  is  the  play  of  thought,  and  sentiment,  and  language;  the  weaving 
in  of  characters,  lightly,  yet  expressively  delineated;  the  familiar  and  faithful 
exhibition  of  scenes  in  common  life;  and  the  half-concealed  vein  of  humor  that  is 
often  playing  through  the  whole;  these  are  among  what  I  aim  at,  and  upon  which 
I  felicitate  myself  in  proportion  as  I  thiiilc  I  succeed.  I  have  preferred  adopting 
the  mode  of  sketches  and  short  tales  rather  than  long  works,  because  I  choose  to 
take  a  line  of  writing  peculiar  to  myself,  rather  than  fall  into  the  manner  or  school 
of  any  other  writer;  and  there  is  a  constant  activity  of  thought  and  a  nicety  of 
execution  required  in  writings  of  the  kind,  more  than  the  world  appears  to  imagine. 
It  is  comparatively  easy  to  swell  a  story  to  any  size  when  you  have  once  the  scheme 
and  the  characters  in  your  mind;  the  mere  interest  of  the  story,  too,  carries  the 
reader  on  through  pages  and  pages  of  careless  writing,  and  the  author  may  often 
be  dull  for  half  a  volume  at  a  time,  if  he  has  some  striking  scene  at  the  end  of  it; 
but  in  these  shorter  writings,  every  page  must  have  its  merit.  The  author  must 
be  continually  piquant;  woe  to  him  if  he  makes  an  awkward  sentence  or  writes  a 
stupid  page;  the  critics  are  sure  to  pounce  upon  it.  Yet  if  he  succeed,  the  very 
variety  and  piquancy  of  his  writings — nay,  their  very  brevity,  make  them  frequently 
recurred  to,  and  when  the  mere  interest  of  the  story  is  exhausted,  he  begins  to  get 
credit  for  his  touches  of  pathos  or  humor;  his  points  of  wit  or  turns  of  language." 
— Irving,  in  a  letter  of  December  n,  1824. 

(224)  A  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK.  From  chapter  i,  Book  HI.  The  text  is 
from  the  1865  edition.  If  New  Amsterdam:  what  is  now  New  York. 

(227)  timmerman=timbeTma.n,   woodworker.      H  King   Log:     according   to 
j£sop  the  frogs  wanted  a  king,  and  Jupiter  threw  them  down  a  log  to  be  their 
ruler. 

(228)  seal-ring  of  the  great  Haroun  Alraschid:  see  The  Arabian  Nights.    \  true 
believers:    Mohammedans. 

(229)  THE  SKETCH  BOOK.    The  text  is  from  the  1858  edition. 

(229)  Rip  Van  Winkle.  "The  foregoing  Tale,  one  would  suspect,  had  been 
suggested  to  Mr.  Knickerbocker  by  a  little  German  superstition  about  the 
Emperor  Frederick  der  Rothbart,  and  the  Kypphaiiser  mountain." — Irving's  note. 
The  legend  of  a  magic  sleep  is  found  in  various  forms  in  several  literatures. 

(231)  galligaskins = breeches. 

(236)  Hollands:  Holland  gin. 

(240)  Antony's  Nose:  a  promontory  on  the  Hudson. 

(243)  The  Mutability  oj  Literature. 


684  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(244)  Doomsday  book:  a  book  containing  the  results  of  a  census  of  the  lands 
of  England,  completed  in  1086  by  order  of  William  the  Conqueror;  so  called  because 
its  "dooms,"  or  decisions,  were  considered  final. 

(247)  Wynkyn  de  Worde:    a  famous  English  printer,  of  the  early  sixteenth 
century. 

(248)  Spenser's  'Well  of  pure  English  undefiled':    Spenser  used  the  phrase 
of  Chaucer: 

Dan  Chaucer,  well  of  English  undefyled, 

On  Fames  eternall  beadroll  worthie  to  be  fyled. 

— The  Faerie  Queene.  IV.  ii,  32. 

*f  Runic:  the  runes  were  the  alphabet  of  the  northern  peoples  of  Europe  and  hence 
quite  unintelligible  in  Tartary.  1f  euphuisms:  elaborate,  affected  expressions  char- 
acteristic of  the  Euphues  of  Lyly  (1554-1606). 

(252)  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER.    The  text  is  from  the  1866  edition.    U  Buck- 
thorne:  at  the  beginning  of  Part  II  of  Tales  of  a  Traveller,  which  is  entitled  "  Buck- 
thorne  and  His  Friends,"   the  fictitious  narrator  says,  "Chance  fortunately  threw 
me  in  the  way  of  a  literary  man  by  the  name  of  Buckthorne,  an  eccentric  personage, 
who  had  lived  much  in  the  metropolis  [London],  and  could  give  me  the  natural 
history  of  every  odd  animal  to  be  met  with  in  that  wilderness  of  men."    In  his 
own   story   Buckthorne    has    already   told  of  meeting   Flimsey,    "the  strolling 
manager." 

(253)  Lord  Townly:   a  character  in  The  Provoked  Husband,  Gibber's  version 
of  Van  Brugh's  Journey  to  London. 

(254)  "  Upon  this  hint,  I  spoke":  Othello,  Act  I,  scene  iii,  1.  166. 

(255)  Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane:   famous  London  theaters. 
(257)  Bond  Street:   an  aristocratic  part  of  London. 

(259)  met  together  ....  kissed  each  other:    cf.  Ps.  85:10,  "Mercy  and 
truth  are  met  together;  righteousness  and  peace  have  kissed  each  other."    H  Eidou- 
ranion:   an  orrery,  or  machine  illustrating  the  revolutions  of  the  sun  and  planets. 
\  Pillgarlick:   one  who  has  hard  luck.    ^  "a  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes":  the 
words  are  cleverly  twisted  from  their  original  use  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  (Act  V, 
scene  i,  1.  45),  where  they  refer  to  the  boxes  in  a  poor  apothecary's  shop. 

(260)  "one  fell  swoop":  Macbeth,  Act  IV,  scene  iii,  1.  219.    If  "be  all  and  the 
end  all":  Macbeth,  Act  I,  scene  vii,  1.  5.     H  "the  bell  then  beating  one":    Hamlet, 
Act  I,  scene  i,  1.  39.    If  "end  of  all  my  greatness":  misquoted  from  Henry  VIII,  Act 
III,  scene  ii,  1.  351,  "a  long  farewell  to  all  my  greatness." 

(261)  ore  rotunda:   "with  rounded  mouth,"  i.e.,  full,  deep  voice. 

(263)  Alexander  the  coppersmith:   referred  to  in  II  Tim.  4:14. 

shadowy  line:  the  phantoms  representing  Banquo's  descendants  who  were  to 
become  kings  of  Scotland;  see  Macbeth,  Act  IV,  scene  i. 

(264)  THE  ALHAMBRA.    The  text  is  from  the  1865  edition.     Arabians  and 
Moors  invaded  Spain  in  the  eighth  century,  conquered  the  Goths,  who  had  been 
converted  to  Christianity  long  before,  and  set  up  a  Mohammedan  kingdom  which 
lasted  until  1492,  when  Ferdinand,  king  of  Spain,  overthrew  it.    Granada  was  its 
capital,  in  which  stood  the  Alhambra,  a  citadel  and  palace. 

(273)  Abishag:   I  Kings  1:1-5. 


NOTES  685 


CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"Another  fault,  which  is  found  principally  in  Knickerbocker,  is  that  of  forcing 
wit  as  if  from  duty — running  it  down,  and  then  whipping  and  spurring  it  into  motion 

again No  doubt,  a  good  deal  might  be  taken  from  Knickerbocker,  which 

would  leave  it  more  sustained  and  vivid;  yet,  after  the  witty  and  humorous  works 
of  a  few  of  the  standard  English  authors,  there  are  no  books  of  the  kind  in  the  lan- 
guage half  so  entertaining,  in  which  the  circumstances  are  so  ludicrous,  and  the 

characters  so  well  sustained  and  made  out We  will  be  open  with  him,  and 

tell  him  that  we  do  not  think  the  change  [in  The  Sketch  Book]  is  for  the  better. 
He  appears  to  have  lost  a  little  of  that  natural  run  of  style,  for  which  his  lighter 
writings  were  so  remarkable.  He  has  given  up  something  of  his  direct,  simple 
manner,  and  plain  phraseology,  for  a  more  studied,  periphrastical  mode  of  expres- 
sion. He  seems  to  have  exchanged  words  and  phrases,  which  were  strong,  distinct, 

and  definite,  for  a  genteel  sort  of  language,  cool,  less  definite,  and  general 

The  same  difference  holds  with  respect  to  the  strength,  quickness,  and  life  of  the 
thoughts  and  feelings.  The  air  about  this  last  work  is  soft,  but  there  is  a 
still  languor  in  it." — R.  H.  Dana,  in  The  North  American  Review,  September, 
1819. 

"It  [The  Sketch  Book}  is  the  work  of  an  American,  entirely  bred  and  trained 
in  that  country — originally  published  within  its  territory — and,  as  we  understand, 
very  extensively  circulated,  and  very  much  admired  among  its  natives.  Now,  the 
most  remarkable  thing  in  a  work  so  circumstanced  certainly  is,  that  it  should  be 
written  throughout  with  the  greatest  care  and  accuracy,  and  worked  up  to  great 
purity  and  beauty  of  diction,  on  the  model  of  the  most  elegant  and  polished  of 
our  native  writers.  It  is  the  first  American  work,  we  rather  think,  of  any  descrip- 
tion, but  certainly  the  first  purely  literary  production,  to  which  we  could  give  this 
praise;  and  we  hope  and  trust  that  we  may  hail  it  as  the  harbinger  of  a  purer 
and  juster  taste— the  foundation  of  a  chaster  and  better  school,  for  the  writers  of 

that  great  and  intelligent  country The  want  is  of  force  and  originality 

in  the  reasoning,  and  speculative  parts,  and  of  boldness  and  incident  in  the  invent- 
ive:— though  the  place  of  these  more  commanding  qualities  is  not  ill  supplied 
by  great  liberality  and  sound  sense,  and  by  a  very  considerable  vein  of  humour, 
and  no  ordinary  grace  and  tenderness  of  fancy." — The  Edinburgh  Review,  August, 
1820. 

"Geoffrey  Crayon  is  an  American  born,  and  has  written  with  a  taste  and  ele- 
gance, 'tis  true,  not  often  rivalled  even  in  England;  but,  that  for  a  great  deal  of 
this  perfection  he  is  indebted  to  a  long  residence  in  this  country,  few  will  deny. 
His  life  of  Campbell  is  written  in  very  bad  taste;  and  the  History  of  New  York, 
in  spite  of  some  humorous  traits,  is  often  both  very  indecorous  and  very  dull. 
Had  English  critics  a  meditated  design  of  deteriorating  American  literature,  and 
of  emasculating  it  of  all  originality,  they  could  not  have  pursued  a  better  course 
than  the  one  they  have  done,  of  lauding  fiercely  the  '  Sketch  Book,'  and  recommend- 
ing it  as  a  model  to  the  author's  countrymen The  beauties  of  Irving  become 

rank  defects,  when  we  consider  him  as  one  of  the  aboriginal  writers  of  a  country. 
We  love  independence  in  others,  as  well  as  in  ourselves." — Blackwood's  Magazine, 
June,  1822. 


686  AMERICAN  PROSE 


"From  the  evidence  of  this  tale  [" Buckthorne,"  in  Tales  of  a  Traveller], 
which  abounds  in  point  and  incident,  it  seems  probable  to  us  that  he  might  as  a 
novelist  prove  no  contemptible  rival  to  Goldsmith,  whose  turn  of  mind  he  very 
much  inherits,  and  of  whose  style  he  particularly  reminds  us  in  the  life  of  Dribble. 
Like  him,  too,  Mr.  Irving  possesses  the  art  of  setting  ludicrous  perplexities  in  the 
most  irresistible  point  of  view,  and  we  think  equals  him  in  the  variety,  if  not  in 
the  force  of  his  humor." — The  Quarterly  Review,  March,  1825. 

"Irving  is  much  overrated,  and  a  nice  distinction  might  be  drawn  between 
his  just  and  his  surreptitious  and  adventitious  reputation — between  what  is  due 
to  the  pioneer  solely,  and  what  to  the  writer.  The  merit,  too,  of  his  tame  propriety 
and  faultlessness  of  style  should  be  candidly  weighed.  He  should  be  compared 
with  Addison,  something  being  hinted  about  imitation,  and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
should  be  brought  up  in  judgment." — E.  A.  Poe,  in  a  letter  to  the  editor  of  The 
American  Museum,  September  4,  1838. 

"The  Spectator,  Mr.  Irving,  and  Mr.  Hawthorne  have  in  common  that  tran- 
quil and  subdued  manner  which  we  have  chosen  to  denominate  repose;  but,  in  the 
case  of  the  two  former,  this  repose  is  attained  rather  by  the  absence  of  novel 
combination,  or  of  originality,  than  otherwise,  and  consists  chiefly  in  the  calm, 
quiet,  unostentatious  expression  of  commonplace  thoughts,  in  an  unambitious, 
unadulterated  Saxon." — E.  A.  Poe,  in  a  review  of  Twice-Told  Tales,  in  Graham's 
Magazine,  May,  1842. 

"The  'Tales  of  a  Traveler,'  by  Irving,  are  graceful  and  impressive  narratives 
— 'The  Young  Italian'  is  especially  good — but  there  is  not  one  of  the  series  which 
can  be  commended  as  a  whole.  In  many  of  them  the  interest  is  subdivided  and 
frittered  away,  and  their  conclusions  are  insufficiently  climacic." — E.  A.  Poe,  in 
an  article  on  Hawthorne,  in  Godey's  Lady's  Book,  November,  1847. 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

"A  skilful  literary  artist  has  constructed  a  tale.  If  wise,  he  has  not  fashioned 
his  thoughts  to  accommodate  his  incidents;  but  having  conceived,  with  deliberate 
care,  a  certain  unique  or  single  effect  to  be  wrought  out,  he  then  invents  such  inci- 
dents— he  then  combines  such  events  as  may  best  aid  him  in  establishing  this  precon- 
ceived effect.  If  his  very  initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the  outbringing  of  this  effect, 
then  he  has  failed  in  his  first  step.  In  the  whole  composition  there  should  be  no  word 
written,  of  which  the  tendency,  direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to  the  one  pre-established 
design.  And  by  such  means,  with  such  care  and  skill,  a  picture  is  at  length 
painted  which  leaves  in  the  mind  of  him  who  contemplates  it  with  a  kindred  art,  a 

sense  of  the  fullest  satisfaction It  may  be  added  here,  par  parenthese,  that 

the  author  who  aims  at  the  purely  beautiful  in  a  prose  tale  is  laboring  at  great 
disadvantage.  For  Beauty  can  be  better  treated  in  the  poem.  Not  so  with  terror, 
or  passion,  or  horror,  or  a  multitude  of  such  other  points.  And  here  it  will  be  seen 
how  full  of  prejudice  are  the  usual  animadversions  against  those  tales  of  ejfcct, 

many  fine  examples  of  which  were  found  in  the  earlier  numbers  of  Blackwood 

The  true  critic  will  but  demand  that  the  design  intended  be  accomplished,  to  the 
fullest  extent,  by  the  means  most  advantageously  applicable." — Poe,  in  a  review 
of  Twice-Told  Tales,  in  Graham's  Magazine,  May,  1842. 


NOTES  687 


(280)  A  DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTRSM.   The  text  is  from  the  1845  (London) 
edition.    There  are  dangerous  tidal  currents  at  the  point  of  the  Norwegian  coast 
described  in  the  tale,  but  the  huge  whirlpool  is  Poe's  invention.    H  Joseph  Glanville: 
an  English  author  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

(281)  Nubian  geographer's:   in  Eureka  Poe  refers  to  "the  Nubian  geographer, 
Ptolemy  Hephestion,"  probably  meaning  Ptolemy,  the  famous  Egyptian  astronomer 
and  geographer  of  the  second  century  A.D.;   there  is  no  evidence  that  he  was  a 
Nubian.     H  M are  Tenebrarum:    "  Sea  of  Shadows,"  the  Atlantic,  of  which  little 
was  known  by  the  ancients. 

(282)  a  mile:  in  Lorimer  Graham's  copy  of  the  tales,  Poe  changed  this  to 
"half  a  mile." 

(283)  a  Norway  mile:   about  four  and  a  half  English  miles. 

(287)  taken  aback:  a  sea  phrase  meaning  that  the  motion  of  the  vessel  was 
checked  by  a  change  of  wind  that  blew  the  sails  back  upon  the  masts. 

(289)  going  large:   running  before  the  wind.     ^  counter:   a  part  of  the  stern. 

(291)  small:  In  Lorimer  Graham's  copy  of  the  tales,  Poe  changed  this  to 
"large."  ^lay  more  along:  inclined  more  from  the  horizontal;  cf.  the  second 
paragraph  below,  in  the  text. 

(294)  of  any  form  whatever:   "See  Archimedes,  'De  Incidenlibus  in  Fluido.' — 
lib.  2." — Poe's  note.    Archimedes,  of  the  third  century  B.C.,  was  the  greatest  of  the 
Greek  mathematicians. 

(295)  THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER.   The  text  is  from  the  1845  (London) 
edition.    H  "Son  cceur  ....  risonne":   "His  heart  is  a  suspended  lute;   so  soon 
as  one  touches  it,  it  responds."    Be"ranger  was  a  contemporary  French  poet  (1780- 
1857);  the  lines  have  not  been  found  in  his  works. 

(299)  ennuyt:    "tired,"  "bored." 

(304)  Porpkyrogene:   "Born  to  the  purple,"  i.e.,  of  royal  birth. 

(305)  other  men:    "Watson,  Dr.  Percival,  Spallanzani,  and  especially  the 
Bishop  of  LlandaS . — See  '  Chemical  Essays,'  vol.  v." — Poe's  note.     If  such  works: 
most  of  those  enumerated  are  known  really  to  exist,  but  some  are  not  of  the  nature 
which  Poe  implies — Belphegor,  e.g.,  is  a  satire  on  marriage. 

(306)  (Egipans:  error  for  "/Egipans,"  the  name  given  by  Mela  and  Pliny  to 
goat-like  men  in  Africa,  perhaps  baboons.    V  Vigiliae  ....  Maguntinae:   "  Vigils 
of  the  Dead  according  to  the  Choir  of  the  Church  of  Maguntia  [  =  Mayence]." 
No  such  book  is  known. 

(309)  "Mad  Trist"  of  Sir  Launcelot  Canning:  no  such  tale  or  writer  is 
known. 

(313)  THE  PIT  AND  THE  PENDULUM.  The  text  is  from  Griswold's  1850  edition, 
except  for  a  few  readings  from  the  Broadway  Journal  text.  The  tale  has  a  certain 
historical  background  in  the  punishments  inflicted  on  heretics  by  the  Spanish 
Inquisition,  a  state  institution,  which  in  earlier  centuries  had  gone  to  great  extremes 
of  cruelty;  these,  however,  had  long  been  abandoned  at  the  time  of  the  tale,  which 
is  pitched  early  in  the  nineteenth  century.  ^  Impia  ....  patent:  "Here  an 
impious  band,  insatiate,  nourished  its  prolonged  madness  on  innocent  blood. 
Now  that  the  country  is  saved  and  the  cave  of  death  destroyed,  where  dire  death 
was,  life  and  health  lie  open."  The  motto  is  from  Disraeli's  Curiosities  of  Literature; 


688  AMERICAN  PROSE 


there  was  such  a  market,  but  no  such  inscription.  U  Jacobin  Club  House:  the 
Jacobins  supported  Robespierre  in  the  Reign  of  Terror. 

(316)  autos-da-fi:   executions  of  heretics  (literally,  "acts  of  faith"). 

(321)  Ultima  Thule:  the  name  given  by  the  ancients  to  an  island  in  the 
Atlantic,  far  to  the  north;  it  came  to  be  used  for  any  extreme  limit. 

(327)  General  Lasalle:  a  cavalry  officer  under  Napoleon,  who  invaded  Spain 
in  1808  and  suppressed  the  Inquisition. 

(327)  THE  PURLOINED  LETTER.  The  text  is  from  the  1845  (London)  edition. 
H  Nil  ....  nimio:  "Nothing  more  odious  to  wisdom  than  too  much  acumen." 
Seneca  was  a  Roman  philosopher  of  the  first  century  A.D.  If  au  troisieme:  "on  the 
third"  floor.  \  the  Rue  Morgue  ....  Marie  Roget:  see  Poe's  tales,  "The 
Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,"  and  "The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget." 

(330)  hotel:   dwelling-house,  mansion. 

(331)  aufait:   "up  to  the  fact,"  "expert." 

(334)  Abernethy:  a  famous  and  somewhat  eccentric  British  physician  (1764- 
1831). 

(336)  Procrustean  bed:   Procrustes  ("the  Stretcher")  was  a  legendary  Greek 
robber,  who  tortured  his  captives  by  stretching  them  to  fit  his  bed  if  they  were 
too  short  for  it,  and  cutting  off  portions  of  their  limbs  if  they  were  too  long. 

(337)  recherchts:   "sought  out";   here  in  the  sense  of  "that  must  be  sought 
for,  hidden." 

(338)  non  distributio  medii:   "the  undistributed  middle,"  a  term  of  mediaeval 
logic;  here  it  means  that  the  reasoner  has  failed  to  distribute,  or  divide,  the  middle 
term  of  his  syllogism,  poets,  into  those  who  are  fools  and  those  who  are  not.    H 'II 
y  a  ....  nombre':  "I  am  ready  to  wager  that  every  public  idea,  every  received 
convention,  is  nonsense,  for  it  has  been  agreed  to  by  the  majority."     If  Chamfort: 
a  French  writer  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

(339)  'ambitus':   "going  about  to  solicit  something."     1'religio':   "conscien- 
tiousness."    V 'homines  Hbnesti':    "distinguished   men."     (In  secondary    senses, 
however,  all  these  words  had  the  meanings  that  Dupin  rejects.) 

(340)  intriguant:   "intriguer." 

(341)  vis  inertia:   "  force  of  inertia." 

(344)  facilis  descensus  Averni:  "easy  the  descent  to  Hell."  K  monstrum 
horrendum:  "horrid  monster."  Tf  Un  dessein  ....  Thyeste:  "A  design  so  fatal, 
if  it  is  not  worthy  of  Atreus,  is  worthy  of  Thyestes."  Thyestes  seduced  the  wife 
of  his  brother,  Atreus,  king  of  Mycenae,  and  attempted  to  kill  him;  Atreus  in 
revenge  slew  the  son  of  Thyestes  and  gave  the  body  to  him  to  eat.  K  Crfbillon's: 
Cr6billon  (1674-1762)  was  a  French  dramatist. 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"In  his  tales,  Mr.  Poe  has  chosen  to  exhibit  his  power  chiefly  in  that  dim  region 
which  stretches  from  the  very  utmost  limits  of  the  probable  into  the  weird  confines 
of  superstition  and  unreality.  He  combines  in  a  very  remarkable  manner  two 
faculties  which  are  seldom  found  united;  a  power  of  influencing  the  mind  of  the 
reader  by  the  impalpable  shadows  of  mystery,  and  a  minuteness  of  detail  which 
does  not  leave  a  pin  or  a  button  unnoticed.  Both  are,  in  truth,  the  natural  results 


NOTES  689 


of  the  predominating  quality  of  his  mind,  to  which  we  have  before  alluded,  analysis. 
It  is  this  which  distinguishes  the  artist.  His  mind  at  once  reaches  forward  to  the 
effect  to  be  produced.  Having  resolved  to  bring  about  certain  emotions  in  the 
reader,  he  makes  all  subordinate  parts  tend  strictly  to  the  common  centre.  Even 

his  mystery  is  mathematical  to  his  own  mind For  this  reason  Mr.  Poe  has 

no  sympathy  with  Mysticism.  The  mystic  dwells  in  the  mystery,  is  enveloped 
with  it;  it  colors  all  his  thoughts;  it  affects  his  optic  nerve  especially,  and  the 
commonest  things  get  a  rainbow  edging  from  it.  Mr.  Poe,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a 
spectator  ab  extra.  He  analyzes,  he  dissects,  he  watches 

— -with  an  eye  serene, 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine. 

...  A  monomania  he  paints  with  great  power.  He  loves  to  dissect  these  cancers 
of  the  mind,  and  to  trace  all  the  subtile  ramifications  of  its  roots.  In  raising  images 
of  horror,  also,  he  has  a  strange  success;  conveying  to  us  sometimes  by  a  dusky 

hint  some  terrible  doubt  which  is  the  secret  of  all  horror His  style  is  highly 

finished,  graceful,  and  truly  classical.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  living  author 
who  had  displayed  such  varied  powers." — J.  R.  Lowell,  in  Graham's  Magazine, 
February,  1845. 

"No  one  can  read  these  tales,  then  close  the  volume,  as  he  may  with  a  thousand 
other  tales,  and  straightway  forget  what  manner  of  book  he  has  been  reading. 
Commonplace  is  the  last  epithet  that  can  be  applied  to  them.  They  are  strange — 
powerful — more  strange  than  pleasing,  and  powerful  productions  without  rising  to 

the  rank  of  genius There  is,  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word,  no  passion  in 

these  tales,  neither  is  there  any  attempt  made  at  dramatic  dialogue.  The  bent  of 
Mr.  Poe's  mind  seems  rather  to  have  been  towards  reasoning  than  sentiment. 
The  style,  too,  has  nothing  peculiarly  commendable;  and  when  the  embellishments 
of  metaphor  and  illustration  are  attempted,  they  are  awkward,  strained,  infelicitous. 
But  the  tales  rivet  the  attention.  There  is  a  marvellous  skill  in  putting  together 
the  close  array  of  facts  and  of  details  which  make  up  the  narrative,  or  the  picture; 
for  the  effect  of  his  description,  as  of  his  story,  depends  never  upon  any  bold  display 
of  the  imagination,  but  on  the  agglomeration  of  incidents,  enumerated  in  the  most 
veracious  manner." — Blackwood's  Magazine,  November,  1847. 

"He  has  De  Foe's  peculiar  talent  for  filling  up  his  pictures  with  minute  life- 
like touches — for  giving  an  air  of  remarkable  naturalness  and  truth  to  whatever 

he  paints In  A  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom  you  are  made  fairly  to  feel 

yourself  on  the  descending  round  of  the  vortex,  convoying  fleets  of  drift  timber, 

and  fragments  of  wrecks;  the  terrible  whirl  makes  you  giddy  as  you  read 

But  in  Mr.  Poe,  the  peculiar  talent  to  which  we  are  indebted  for  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  the  memoirs  of  Captain  Monroe,  has  an  addition.  Truthlike  as  nature  itself, 
his  strange  fiction  shows  constantly  the  presence  of  a  singularly  adventurous, 
very  wild,  and  thoroughly  poetic  imagination."— P.  P.  Cooke,  in  The  Southern 
Literary  Messenger,  January,  1848. 

"He  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  boldness  and  originality  ot  intellect,  with  a 
power  of  sharp  and  subtle  analysis  that  has  seldom  been  surpassed,  and  an  imagina- 
tion singularly  prolific  both  in  creations  of  beauty  and  of  terror With  these 


6go  AMERICAN  PROSE 


rare  gifts  of  invention  and  expression,  Mr.  Poe  might  have  attained  an  eminent 
rank  in  literature,  and  even  have  been  classed  among  the  intellectual  benefactors 
of  society.  Unhappily,  he  had  no  earnestness  of  character,  no  sincerity  of  convic- 
tion, no  faith  in  human  excellence,  no  devotion  to  a  high  purpose — not  even  the 
desire  to  produce  a  consummate  work  of  art — and  hence,  his  writings  fail  of  appealing 
to  universal  principles  of  taste,  and  are  destitute  of  the  truth  and  naturalness, 

which  are  the  only  passports  to  an  enduring  reputation  in  literature The 

effect  of  his  writings  is  like  breathing  the  air  of  a  charnel  house." — The  New  York 
Tribune,  as  reprinted  in  Littell's  Living  Age,  April  13,  1850. 

"Several  of  his  prose  tales  fully  equal  in  imaginative  power,  in  vividness  of 
description,  and  in  thorough  artistic  finish,  anything  that  he  ever  produced  in  a 
metrical  form.  Among  several  in  the  highest  style  of  art,  we  would  instance  'Ligeia,' 
and  'The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher.'  ....  The  impression  which  is  made  by 
Poe's  writings,  as  a  whole,  is  decidedly  painful,  the  contrast  is  forced  so  perpetually 
upon  us  of  what  he  was,  and  how  he  used  his  talents,  with  what  he  might  have 
been,  and  might  have  accomplished,  had  he  applied  his  energies  to  any  one  noble 
purpose.  We  find  in  him  great  mental  power,  but  no  mental  health.  His  force 
was  the  preternatural  activity  of  a  strong  imagination,  which,  curbless  and  uncon- 
trolled, bore  him  whithersoever  it  would.  Even  his  ambition  had  nothing  ennobling 
in  it."— The  North  American  Review,  October,  1856. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

(345)  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR.  The  text  is  from  the  1856  edition.  The 
address  was  delivered  before  the  Harvard  chapter  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society 
in  1837. 

(348)  quick = living. 

(354)  Druids:  the  priests  of  the  ancient  Celts,  who  offered  human  sacrifices. 
H  Ber serkirs:  heroes  of  Teutonic  mythology,  who  fought  naked,  frenzied  with 
liquor,  and  regardless  of  wounds.  \  Alfred:  the  beneficent  English  king  of  the 
ninth  century. 

(357)  Macdonald:  the  head  of  a  famous  Scotch  dan. 

(361)  Pestalozzi:  a  Swiss  educational  reformer  (1746-1827). 

(362)  THE  OVER-SOUL.    From  Essays,  First  Series.    The  text  is  from  the 
1857  edition. 

(366)  Zeno  and  Arrian:  Greek  Stoic  philosophers  of  the  third  century  B.C. 
and  the  first  century  AJ>.,  respectively. 

(369)  Emanuel  Swedenborg:   cf.  "The  American  Scholar,"  p.  361. 

(370)  "blasted  with  excess  of  light":  Gray's  "Progress  of  Poesy,"  HI.  2.  H  trances 
of  Socrates:   "You  have  often  heard  me  speak  of  an  oracle  or  sign  which  comes  to 
me,  and  is  the  divinity  which  Meletus  ridicules  in  the  indictment.    This  sign  I 
have  had  ever  since  I  was  a  child.   The  sign  is  a  voice  which  comes  to  me  and  always 
forbids  me  to  do  something  which  I  am  going  to  do,  but  never  commands  me  to 
do  anything." — Plato's  Apology,  Jowett's  translation.    ^  Plotinus:  a  neo-Platonist, 
of  the  third  century  A.D.,  who  believed  in  a  mystic  union  of  the  human  soul  with  the 
Infinite.     H  Porphyry:    a  disciple  of  Plotinus.     H  conversion  of  Paul:    Acts  9;   cf. 


NOTES  691 


II  Cor.  12:1-4.  If  Behmen:  Jacob  Behmen  (1575—1624),  a  German  mystic,  who 
believed  that  his  mind  was  directly  illumined  by  God;  Aurora  is  the  title  of  one 
of  his  works.  ^  George  Fox:  he  founded  the  sect  of  Quakers,  about  i66g. 

(375)  Christina:  queen  of  Sweden,  who  abdicated  in  1654  and  settled  in  Rome, 
where  she  became  the  patron  of  men  of  letters  and  science.  H  said  Milton:  in 
Areopagitica. 

(377)  NATURE.  From  Essays,  Second  Series.  The  text  is  from  the  1857 
edition. 

(379)  villeggiatura:   the  word  strictly  means  the  pleasures  of  the  country,  or 
a  period  of  retirement  in  the  country;  Emerson  seems  to  have  taken  it  to  mean  a 
village  festival. 

(380)  Versailles:   the  country  palace  of  the  kings  of  France.    If  Paphos:   a  city 
on  the  island  of  Cyprus,  where  was  a  famous  temple  of  Aphrodite.    H  Ctesiphon:  a 
city  in  Mesopotamia,  the  site  of  a  magnificent  palace  of  the  Persian  kings.    If  Notch 
Mountains:   at  Crawford  Notch  in  the  White  Mountains,  New  Hampshire. 

(381)  Tempes:  the  vale  of  Tempe  in  Greece  was  famed  for  its  beauty.    ^  Como 
Lake:  in  northern  Italy.    If  Campagna:   the  open  country  around  Rome. 

(382)  take  place:    take  precedence,  have  the  preference.     If  euphuism:    an 
affected  way  of  writing,  characteristic  of  the  style  of  Lyly's  Eupkues  (1570-80). 


(383)  Ptolemaic  schemes:  Ptolemy,  an  Alexandrian  astronomer  of  the  second 
century  A.D.,  believed  that  the  earth  was  the  center  of  the  universe,  which  he 
conceived  of  as  much  smaller  than  it  is. 

(387)  Jacob  Behmen  and  George  Fox:  see  notes  above.  If  James  Naylor:  a 
Quaker  fanatic,  who,  believing  himself  to  be  a  reincarnation  of  Christ,  in  1655 
rode  into  Bristol  on  horseback,  naked,  in  imitation  of  Christ's  entry  into  Jerusalem; 
he  was  punished  for  blasphemy  and  recanted. 

(390)  (Edipus:  the  legendary  Greek  king  who  guessed  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx. 

(391)  BEHAVIOR.     From  The  Conduct  of  Life.    The  text  is  from  the  1860 
edition. 

(392)  Consuelo:    the  title  character  in  a  novel   (1842)   by  George  Sand. 
^  Talma:    a  French  actor  (1763-1826).      ^better  the  instruction:    from  The  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  Act  III,  scene  i,  1.  76. 

(394)  frivolus  Asmodeus:   an  evil  spirit  of  Jewish  legend;    see  "Tobit"  in  the 
Old  Testament  Apocrypha.    If  ropes  of  sand  to  twist:  a  symbol  of  useless  activity, 
to  kill  time,     f  Charles  Dickens:    see  his  American  Notes.     1f  this  city:    Boston. 
If  Claverhouse:  a  dashing  Scotch  soldier  who  fought  for  James  II  against  William  III; 
see  Scott's  poem,  "Bonnie  Dundee." 

(395)  <*»*  old  statesman:  probably  John  Quincy  Adams.    If  emir:  an  Arabian 
title,  signifying  "leader"  or  "commander."     If  Abdel-Kader:  an  Algerian  chief 
taken  prisoner  by  the  French  in  1847;  he  contributed  material  to  a  book,  by  a 
French  officer,  with  which  Emerson  was  acquainted. 

(398)  Winckelmann:  the  author  of  a  famous  work  (1764)  on  ancient  art. 
f  Lavaler:  the  founder  (1775-78)  of  the  so-called  science  of  physiognomy.  T  "the 
terrors  of  the  beak":  misquoted  from  Gray's  "Progress  of  Poesy,"  I.  2,  "The  terror 
of  his  beak,"  where  it  refers  to  the  eagle  of  Jove.  If  Balzac:  a  French  novelist 


'692  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(1790-1850).  \"TMorie  de  la  demarche":  "Theory  of  the  Gait."  f  Saint 
Simon,  .  .  .  .  de  Relz,  ....  Roederer:  Frenchmen  of  the  eighteenth,  seventeenth, 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  respectively,  who  wrote  memoirs  illustrating  life  at  court. 
IT  "Notre  Dame":  a  novel  by  Victor  Hugo  (1802-85). 

(399)  Fuseli:    a  Swiss  painter  (1741-1825),  who  lived  much  in  England. 
H  Northcote:  an  English  painter,  a  contemporary  of  Fuseli. 

(400)  Pariah  caste:   the  lowest  caste  in  India,  shunned  by  all  the  other 
castes,     f  says  Aspasia:    in  Landor's  Imaginary  Conversations,   "Pericles  and 
Aspasia,"  CLIV. 

(401)  a  sibyl:  probably  Emerson's  aunt,  Mary  Moody  Emerson.    Tf  Cassan- 
dras:  Cassandra,  daughter  of  Priam,  was  given  prophetic  insight  by  Apollo. 

(402)  Aristotle,  nor  Leibnitz,  nor  Junius,  nor  Champollion:    Aristotle's  works 
include  a  treatise  on  rhetoric;  Leibnitz  (1646-1716)  gave  some  attention  to  philol- 
ogy;  Franziskus  Junius  (1589—1677),  a  student  of  Teutonic  tongues,  wrote  on 
English  etymology;   Champollion  (1790-1832)  discovered  the  key  to  the  Egyptian 
hieroglyphic  inscriptions.    U  Jacobi:   a  German  philosopher  (1743-1819). 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"Emerson  fills  the  same  r61e  of  observer  and  of  endless  seeker,  with  an  audacity 
and  a  concentration  of  thought  which  bring  him  near  at  the  same  time  to  the  sages 
of  antiquity Emerson  has  all  the  qualities  of  the  sage:  originality,  spon- 
taneity, wise  observation,  delicate  analysis,  critical  temper,  and  freedom  from 
dogmatism." — Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  July-September,  1847.  (Translation.) 

"When  we  accuse  Mr.  Emerson  of  obscurity,  it  is  not  obscurity  of  style  that 
we  mean.  His  style  often  rises — as  our  readers  have  had  already  opportunities  of 
judging — into  a  vivid,  terse,  and  graphic  eloquence,  agreeably  tinged  at  times 
with  a  poetic  colouring;  and  although  he  occasionally  adopts  certain  inversions 
which  are  not  customary  in  modern  prose,  he  never  lays  himself  open  to  the  charge 
of  being  difficult  or  unintelligible.  But  there  is  an  obscurity  of  thought — in  the 
very  matter  of  his  writings— produced  first  by  a  vein  of  mysticism  which  runs 
throughout  his  works,  and,  secondly,  by  a  manner  he  sometimes  has  of  sweeping 
together  into  one  paragraph  a  number  of  unsorted  ideas,  but  scantily  related  to 
each  other — bringing  up  his  drag-net  with  all -manner  of  fish  in  it,  and  depositing 

it  then  and  there  before  us That  which  forms  the  great  and  inextinguishable 

charm  of  those  writings  is  the  fine  moral  temper  they  display,  the  noble  ardour, 
the  high  ethical  tone  they  everywhere  manifest  and  sustain,  and  especially  that 
lofty  independence  of  his  intellect,  that  freedom  of  his  reason  which  the  man  who 
aspires  after  true  cultivation  should  watch  over  and  preserve  with  the  utmost 
jealousy." — Blackwood's  Magazine,  December,  1847. 

"The  present  volume  [Representative  Men]  is  marked  strongly  both  by  the 
excellences  and  defects  of  Mr.  Emerson's  other  writings.  His  style  is  often  musical, 
clear,  and  brilliant;  words  are  selected  with  so  rare  a  felicity  that  they  have  the 
shine  of  diamonds,  and  they  cut  their  meaning  on  the  reader's  mind  as  the  diamond's 
edge  leaves  its  trace  deep  and  sharp  on  the  surface  of  glass.  But  by  and  by, 
we  fall  upon  a  passage  which  either  conveys  no  distinct  sense,  or  in  which  some 
very  common-place  thought  is  made  to  sound  with  the  clangor  of  a  braying  trumpet. 


NOTES  693 


Quaintness  of  thought  and  expression  is  his  easily  besetting  sin;  and  here  lies  the 
secret  of  his  sympathy  with  Carlyle,  that  highly  gifted  master  of  oddity  and  affec- 
tation. As  a  writer,  Mr.  Emerson  is  every  way  Carlyle's  superior,  would  he  but 
let  the  Carlylese  dialect  alone.  He  has  more  imagination,  more  refinement  and 
subtlety  of  thought,  more  taste  in  style,  more  exquisite  sense  of  rhythm.  Perhaps 
his  range  of  intellectual  vision  is  not  so  broad.  He  has  not  the  learning  of  Carlyle, 
nor  the  abundant  humor,  which  sometimes  reconciles  us  even  to  absurdity.  But 
Mr.  Emerson  has  a  more  delicate  wit,  a  wit  often  quite  irresistible  by  its  unexpected 
turns,  and  the  sudden  introduction  of  effective  contrasts." — C.  C.  Felton,  in  The 
North  American  Review,  April,  1850. 

"The  bother  with  Mr.  Emerson  is,  that,  though  he  writes  in  prose,  he  is  essen- 
tially a  poet.  If  you  undertake  to  paraphrase  what  he  says,  and  to  reduce  it  to 
words  of  one  syllable  for  infant  minds,  you  will  make  as  sad  work  of  it  as  the  good 
monk  with  his  analysis  of  Homer  in  the  'Epistolae  Obscurorum  Virorum.'  We 
look  upon  him  as  one  of  the  few  men  of  genius  whom  our  age  has  produced,  and 
there  needs  no  better  proof  of  it  than  his  masculine  faculty  of  fecundating  other 
minds.  Search  for  his  eloquence  in  his  books  and  you  will  perchance  miss  it,  but 
meanwhile  you  will  find  that  it  has  kindled  all  your  thoughts.  For  choice  and  pith 
of  language  he  belongs  to  a  better  age  than  ours,  and  might  rub  shoulders  with 
Fuller  and  Browne, — though  he  does  use  that  abominable  word,  reliable.  His 
eye  for  a  fine,  telling  phrase  that  will  carry  true  is  like  that  of  a  backwoodsman  for 
a  rifle;  and  he  will  dredge  you  up  a  choice  word  from  the  ooze  of  Cotton  Mather 
himself.  A  diction  at  once  so  rich  and  so  homely  as  his  we  know  not  where  to 
match  in  these  days  of  writing  by  the  page;  it  is  like  homespun  cloth-of-gold. 
The  many  cannot  miss  his  meaning,  and  only  the  few  can  find  it.  It  is  the  open 
secret  of  all  true  genius." — J.  R.  Lowell,  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  February,  1861. 

"Whether  he  turns  his  eyes  abroad  or  fixes  them  on  what  passes  around 
him  at  home,  he  can  now  and  again  send  a  glance  right  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 
Looking  across  the  dreary  flats  of  the  American  multitude,  we  see  him  as  a  man 
in  their  midst  of  pronounced  individuality,  with  force  to  resist  the  tyranny  of  the 
majority — with  moral  courage  and  mental  vigour  enough  to  withstand  the  pressure 
of  the  crowd.  Although  sitting,  he  seems  to  us  a  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
rest,  and  we  think  that  what  he  says  of  his  countrymen,  as  of  us,  is  worth  listening 
to." — The  Quarterly  Review,  January,  1864. 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

(406)  THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL.  From  Twice-Told  Tales.  The  text  is 
from  the  1851  edition. 

(411)  they  tolled  the  wedding  knell:  see  Hawthorne's  tale,  "The  Wedding 
Knell,"  in  Twice-Told  Tales. 

(418)  DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.    From  Twice-Told  Tales.    The  text  is 
from  the  1851  edition. 

(419)  Hippocrates:   a  famous  Greek  physician,  of  the  fifth  century  B.C.,  called 
"the  father  of  medicine." 

(428)  RAPPACCINI'S  DAUGHTER.  From  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.  The 
text  is  from  the  1854  edition. 


694  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(429)  Vertumnus:  the  god  of  the  changing  nature  of  the  seasons. 

(434)  lacryma:  lacryma  Christ!  ("tear  of  Christ"),  a  strong  red  wine. 

(446)  an  old  classic  author:  Sir  Thomas  Browne  (i  605-82) .  In  his  Pseudodoxia 
Epidemica,  or  "Vulgar  Errors,"  Book  VII,  chapter  17,  he  says,  "A  story  there 
passeth  of  an  Indian  king,  that  sent  unto  Alexander  a  fair  woman,  fed  with  aconites 
and  other  poisons,  with  this  intent,  ....  complexionally  to  destroy  him."  Haw- 
thorne enters  the  sentence  in  his  American  Note-Books,  under  date  of  January  4, 1839. 

(448)  Benvenulo  Cellini:  a  Florentine  silversmith  and  sculptor  (1500-71). 
\  poisons  of  the  Borgias:  Cesare  Borgia  (1478-1507)  and  Lucrezia  Borgia  (1480- 
1519),  children  of  Pope  Alexander  VI,  gained  an  evil  fame — undeserved  by 
Lucrezia — for  murders  committed  by  the  use  of  poisons. 

(455)  FEATHERTOP.  From  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.  The  text  is  from  the 
1854  edition. 

(457)  powwow  =  conjurer. 

(463)  shares  in  a  broken  bubble:  an  allusion  to  the  famous  South  Sea  Bubble, 
the  name  given  to  a  scheme  originating  in  England  near  the  beginning  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  to  secure  a  monopoly  of  trade  with  Spanish  South  America;  it 
collapsed,  and  the  stockholders  lost  heavily. 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"We  are  disposed,  on  the  strength  of  these  volumes  [Twice-Told  Tales],  to 
accord  to  Mr.  Hawthorne  a  high  rank  among  the  writers  of  this  country,  and  to 
predict,  that  his  contributions  to  its  imaginative  literature  will  enjoy  a  permanent 
and  increasing  reputation.  Though  he  has  not  produced  any  elaborate  and  long- 
sustained  work  of  fiction,  yet  his  writings  are  most  strikingly  characterized  by  that 

creative  originality,  which  is  the  essential  life-blood  of  genius He  blends 

together,  with  a  skilful  hand,  the  two  worlds  of  the  seen  and  the  unseen.  He  never 
fairly  goes  out  of  the  limits  of  probability,  never  calls  up  an  actual  ghost,  or  dispenses 
with  the  laws  of  nature;  but  he  passes  as  near  as  possible  to  the  dividing  line,  and 
his  skill  and  ingenuity  are  sometimes  tasked  to  explain,  by  natural  laws,  that  which 
produced  upon  the  reader  all  the  effect  of  the  supernatural.  In  this,  too,  his 

originality  is  conspicuously  displayed His  language  is  very  pure,  his  words 

are  uniformly  well  chosen,  and  his  periods  are  moulded  with  great  grace  and  skill." 
— H.  W.  Longfellow,  in  The  North  American  Review,  April,  1842. 

"Of  Mr.  Hawthorne's  Tales  we  would  say,  emphatically,  that  they  belong 

to  the  highest  region  of  Art — an  Art  subservient  to  genius  of  a  very  lofty  order 

There  is,  perhaps,  a  somewhat  too  general  or  prevalent  tone — a  tone  of  melancholy 
and  mysticism.  The  subjects  are  insufficiently  varied.  There  is  not  so  much  of 
versatility  evinced  as  we  might  well  be  warranted  in  expecting  from  the  high  powers 
of  Mr.  Hawthorne.  But  beyond  these  trivial  exceptions  we  have  really  none  to 
make.  The  style  is  purity  itself." — E.  A.  Poe,  in  Graham's  Magazine,  May,  1842. 

"He  is  infinitely  too  fond  of  allegory,  and  can  never  hope  for  popularity  so 
long  as  he  persists  in  it.  This  he  will  not  do,  for  allegory  is  at  war  with  the  whole 
tone  of  his  nature,  which  disports  itself  never  so  well  as  when  escaping  from  the 
mysticism  of  his  Goodman  Browns  and  White  Old  Maids  into  the  hearty,  genial, 
but  still  Indian-summer  sunshine  of  his  Wakefields  and  Little  Annie's  Rambles. 


NOTES  695 


....  Let  him  mend  his  pen,  get  a  bottle  of  visible  ink,  come  out  from  the  Old 
Manse,  cut  Mr.  Alcott,  hang  (if  possible)  the  editor  of  'The  Dial,'  and  throw  out 
of  the  window  to  the  pigs  all  his  odd  numbers  of  'The  North  American  Review.'" 
— E.  A.  Poe,  in  Godey's  Lady's  Book,  November,  1847. 

"The  'Mosses  from  an  old  Manse,'  is  occasionally  written  with  an  elegance 
of  style  which  may  almost  bear  comparison  with  that  of  Washington  Irving;  and 
though  certainly  it  is  inferior  to  the  works  of  that  author  in  taste  and  judgment, 
and  whatever  may  be  described  as  artistic  talent,  it  exhibits  deeper  traces  of  thought 

and  reflection Mr.  Hawthorne  appears  to  have  little  skill  and  little  taste 

for  dealing  with  matter  of  fact  or  substantial  incident,  but  relies  for  his  favourable 
impression  on  the  charm  of  style,  and  the  play  of  thought  and  fancy.  The  most 
serious  defect  in  his  stories  is  the  frequent  presence  of  some  palpable  improbability 
which  mars  the  effect  of  the  whole —  ....  improbability  in  the  main  motive  and 
state  of  mind  which  he  has  undertaken  to  describ'e,  and  which  forms  the  turning 
point  of  the  whole  narrative." — Blackwood's  Magazine,  November,  1847. 

"No  one  who  has  taken  up  the  Scarlet  Letter  will  willingly  lay  it  down  till 
he  has  finished  it;  and  he  will  do  well  not  to  pause,  for  he  cannot  resume  the  story 
where  he  left  it.  He  should  give  himself  up  to  the  magic  power  of  the  style,  without 
stopping  to  open  wide  the  eyes  of  his  good  sense  and  judgment,  and  shake  off  the 
spell;  or  half  the  weird  beauty  will  disappear  like  a  'dissolving  view.'  ....  One 
cannot  but  wonder,  by  the  way,  that  the  master  of  such  a  wizard  power  over  lan- 
guage as  Mr.  Hawthorne  manifests  should  not  choose  a  less  revolting  subject  than 
this  of  the  Scarlet  Letter,  to  which  fine  writing  seems  as  inappropriate  as  fine 
embroidery." — Miss  A.  W.  Abbott,  in  The  North  American  Review,  July,  1850. 

"He  always  takes  us  below  the  surface  and  beyond  the  material;  his  most 
inartificial  stories  are  eminently  suggestive;  he  makes  us  breathe  the  air  of  contem- 
plation, and  turns  our  eyes  inward And  yet  there  is  no  painful  extrava- 
gance, no  transcendental  vagaries  in  Hawthorne;  his  imagination  is  as  human  as 
his  heart;  if  he  touches  the  horizon  of  the  infinite,  it  is  with  reverence;  if  he  deals 
with  the  anomalies  of  sentiment,  it  is  with  intelligence  and  tenderness.  His  utter- 
ance too  is  singularly  clear  and  simple;  his  style  only  rises  above  the  colloquial  in 

the  sustained  order  of  its  flow;  the  terms  are  apt,  natural  and  fitly  chosen 

This  genuine  and  unique  romance  [The  Scarlet  Letter]  may  be  considered  as  an 
artistic  exposition  of  Puritanism  as  modified  by  New  England  colonial  life.  In 
truth  to  costume,  local  manners  and  scenic  features,  the  Scarlet  Letter  is  as  reliable 
as  the  best  of  Scott's  novels;  in  the  anatomy  of  human  passion  and  consciousness 
it  resembles  the  most  effective  of  Balzac's  illustrations  of  Parisian  or  provincial 
life,  while  in  developing  bravely  and  justly  the  sentiment  of  the  life  it  depicts,  it  is 
as  true  to  humanity  as  Dickens.  Beneath  its  picturesque  details  and  intense 
characterization,  there  lurks  a  profound  satire." — H.  T.  Tuckerman,  in  The  Southern 
Literary  Messenger,  June,  1851. 

"The  mind  of  this  child  of  witch-haunted  Salem  loved  to  hover  between  the 
natural  and  the  supernatural,  and  sought  to  tread  the  almost  imperceptible  and 

doubtful  line  of  contact His  genius  broods  entranced  over  the  evanescent 

phantasmagoria  of  the  vague  debatable  land  in  which  the  realities  of  experience 
blend  with  ghostly  doubts  and  wonders.  But  from  its  poisonous  flowers  what  a 


696  AMERICAN  PROSE 


wondrous  perfume  he  distilled!  .Through  his  magic  reed,  into  what  penetrating 
melody  he  blew  that  deathly  air!  His  relentless  fancy  seemed  to  seek  a  sin  that 
was  hopeless,  a  cruel  despair  that  no  faith  could  throw  off.  Yet  his  naive  and  well- 
poised  genius  hung  over  the  gulf  of  blackness,  and  peered  into  the  pit  with  the 

steady  nerve  and  simple  face  of  a  boy It  was  not  beauty  in  itself,  nor 

deformity,  not  virtue  nor  vice,  which  engaged  the  author's  deepest  sympathy.  It 
was  the  occult  relation  between  the  two.  -  Thus  while  the  Puritans  were  of  all  men 
pious,  it  was  the  instinct  of  Hawthorne's  genius  to  search  out  and  trace  with  terrible 
tenacity  the  dark  and  devious  thread  of  sin  in  their  lives.  Human  life  and  character, 
whether  in  New  England  two  hundred  years  ago  or  in  Italy  to-day,  interested  him 
only  as  they  were  touched  by  this  glamour  of  sombre  spiritual  mystery;  and  the 
attraction  pursued  him  in  every  form  in  which  it  appeared." — G.  W.  Curtis,  in 
The  North  American  Review,  October,  1864. 

"The  Puritanism  of  the  past  found  its  unwilling  poet  in  Hawthorne,  the  rarest 
creative  imagination  of  the  century,  the  rarest  in  some  ideal  respects  since  Shake- 
speare."—J.  R.  Lowell,  in  an  article  on  Thoreau,  in  The  North  American  Review, 
October,  1865. 

"That  Fate  which  the  Greeks  made  to  operate  from  without,  we  recognize 
at  work  within  in  some  vice  of  character  or  hereditary  predisposition.  Hawthorne, 
the  most  profoundly  ideal  genius  of  these  latter  days,  was  continually  returning 
more  or  less  directly,  to  this  theme;  and  his  'Marble  Faun,'  whether  consciously 
or  not,  illustrates  that  invasion  of  the  aesthetic  by  the  moral  which  has  confused 
art  by  dividing  its  allegiance." — J.  R.Lowell,  in  a  review  of  Swinburne's  tragedies, 
in  The  North  American  Review,  April,  1866. 

"This  is  the  quality  likewise  of  Hawthorne's  humour.  But  his  has  more 
piquancy  and  new-world  flavour.  To  do  it  justice,  however,  would  demand  a  close 
psychological  study,  so  curious  and  complex  were  the  nature  and  genius  of  the 
man;  the  nature  was  a  singular  growth  for  such  a  soil,  the  genius  out  of  keeping  with 
the  environment,  or,  as  the  Americans  would  say,  the  'fixings,' — a  new- world 
man  who  shrank  like  a  sensitive  plant  from  the  heat,  and  haste,  and  loudness  of 
his  countrymen,  and  whose  brooding  mind  was  haunted  by  shadows  from  the  past. 
There  was  a  sombre  background  to  his  mind  or  temperament,  against  which  the 
humour  plays  more  brightly." — The  Quarterly  Review,  "Yankee  Humour,"  January, 
1867. 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU 

(474)  WALDEN.    Chapters  2  and  12.    The  text  is  from  the  1854  edition. 

(475)  "I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey":    from  Cowper's  poem  on  Alexander 
Selkirk,  the  original  of  Robinson  Crusoe;   in  the.  last  word  Thoreau  puns  on  his 
occupation  as  a  land-surveyor. 

(478)  Harivansa:   a  Sanskrit  poem. 

(479)  Damodara:   a  demUgod  in  Hindu  poetry. 

(480)  its  own  wrath  and  wanderings:    the  Iliad  begins,  "Sing,  goddess,  the 
wrath  of  Achilles";   the  Odyssey  tells  of  the  wanderings  of  Odysseus  on  his  way 
home  from  the  Trojan  War.    f  till  forbidden:   the  words,  contracted  to  "tf,"  used 
in  newspapers  to  show  that  an  advertisement  is  to  stand  until  further  notice. 


NOTES  697 


(481)  The  Vedas:   the  sacred  books  of  India,    f  like  Memnon:  the  statue  of 
Memnon,  in  Egypt,  was  said  to  give  forth  a  musical  note  when  the  first  rays  of 
the  rising  sun  touched  it. 

(482)  "glorify  God,"  etc.:    from  the  Westminster  Catechism,     ^changed  into 
men:    a  Greek  fable"  says  that  Zeus  turned  ants  into  men,  to  repopulate  an 
island  smitten  with  the  plague,     ^like  pygmies  we  fight  with  cranes:   see  the  Iliad 
iii.  3-7.    If  clout  =  patch. 

(483)  setting  the  bell:   poising  it,  mouth  up,  for  a  moment,  and  thus  making 
it  ring  slower. 

(484)  Wachito  River:   in  Arkansas  and  Louisiana,  in  what  were  then  rather 
wild  regions.     If  mammoth  cave:    in  Mammoth  Cave,  in  Kentucky,  are  fish  with 
only  rudiments  of  eyes.    If  Don  Carlos  and  the  Infanta:  Don  Carlos  was  a  pretender 
to  the  throne  of  Spain,  who  was  defeated  of  his  hopes  by  the  recognition  of  the 
Infanta,  daughter  of.  the  dead  king,  in  1834. 

(486)  Brahme:    used  apparently  for  "Brahma,"  the  name  of  the  supreme 
god  in  Hindu  mythology.    If  "Mill-dam":   a  meeting-place  for  gossip  in  Concord. 
If  tied  to  the  mast  like  Ulysses:   when  the  ship  of  Ulysses  drew  near  the  isle  of  the 
sirens,  he  sealed  the  ears  of  his  crew  with  wax,  and  had  them  tie  himself  to  the 
mast,  that  he  might  hear  the  sirens'  song  without  yielding  to  its  allurement;   see 
the  Odyssey  vii. 

(487)  in  place:  a  geological  term,  meaning  "in  the  original  situation."  ^f  point 
d'appui:  "point  of  support."    ^  a  companion:  said  to  be  William  Ellery  Channing. 

(488)  of  the  coast  of  Spain:   an  allusion  to  the  fanciful  "castles  in  Spain." 

(489)  Con-fut-see:  Confucius,  the  Chinese  philosopher,  of  the  sixth  century  B.C. 
If  Mem.  =  Memorandum.     ^Pilpay  &•  Co.:  writers  of  animal  fables;  "Pilpay  "  is  a 
modernized  form  of  the  title  of  an  ancient  Indian  sage  and  fabulist. 

(492)  Myrmidons:   originally  the  Thessalian  warriors  who  went  with  Achilles 
to  the  siege  of  Troy;   then  any  fierce   soldiers,      ^wilh  his  shield  or  upon  it: 
"  Another  on  handing  her  boy  his  shield,  exhorting  him,  said,  '  My  son,  either  this 
or  upon  this.'"— Plutarch,  Apothegms  oj  the  Laconian  Women.     ^Achilles  .... 
Patroclus:   Achilles,  the  hero  of  the  Iliad,  sulks  in  his  tent  because  of  anger  at 
a  wrong  done  him  by  the  Greek  king,  and  rejoins  the  fight  only  when  his  friend 
Patroclus  has  been  killed. 

(493)  Austerlitz  or  Dresden:   the  scene  of  bloody  victories  won  by  Napoleon 
in  1805  and  1813.    If  Two  killed:   Captain  Isaac  Davis  and  Abner  Hosmer.    f  But- 
trick:    Major  Buttrick,  in  command  of  the  American  soldiers  at  Concord  bridge. 

(494)  Hotel  des  Imalides:    a  soldiers'  home  in  Paris.     H  Kirby  and  Spence: 
authors  of  An  Introduction  to  Entomology  (1815-26).    If  Huber:   a  Swiss  naturalist 
(1750-1831).     If  Mneas  Sylvius:    Pope  Pius  II  (1405-46).     1  Olaus  Magnus:    a 
Swedish  historian  (1490-1558).     If  Webster's  Fugitive-Slave  Bill:    a  more  stringent 
law  to  secure  the  return  of  fugitive  slaves  was  enacted  in  1850;  Daniel  Webster's 
support  of  it  in  the  Senate  (see  p.  636)  aroused  indignation  in  New  England  (see 
Whittier's  poem  "Ichabod"). 

(495)  winged  as  well  as  his  horse:   Pegasus,  the  winged  horse  of  Greek  mythol- 
ogy, by  a  kick  of  his  hoof  caused  the  fountain  Hippocrene  to  spring  forth  on  Mt. 
Helicon,  the  abode  of  the  Muses;  hence  he  was  considered  the  horse  of  poets. 


698  AMERICAN  PROSE 


CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"The  economical  details  and  calculations  in  this  book  [TFoWe»]  are  more 
curious  than  useful;  for  the  author's  life  in  the  woods  was  on  too  narrow  a  scale 
to  find  imitators.  But  in  describing  his  hermitage  and  his  forest  life,  he  says  so 
many  pithy  and  brilliant  things,  and  offers  so  many  piquant,  and,  we  may  add,  so 
many  just,  comments  on  society  as  it  is,  that  his  book  is  well  worth  the  reading, 
both  for  its  actual  contents  and  its  suggestive  capacity." — The  North  American 
Review,  October,  1854. 

"  Cape  Cod  is  photographed  at  last,  for  Thoreau  has  been  there.  Day  by  day 
with  his  stout  pedestrian  shoes,  he  plodded  along  that  level  beach, — the  eternal 
ocean  on  one  side,  and  human  existence  reduced  to  its  simplest  elements  on  the 
other, — and  he  pitilessly  weighing  each.  His  mental  processes  never  impress  one 
with  opulence  and  luxuriance,  but  rather  with  a  certain  sublime  tenacity,  which 
extracts  nutriment  from  the  most  barren  soil.  He  is  therefore  admirably  matched 

against  Cape  Cod In  his  stern  realism,  the  author  employs  what  he  himself 

calls  'Panurgic'  plainness  of  speech,  and  deals  with  the  horrors  of  the  sea-shore 
as  composedly  as  with  its  pearls.  His  descriptions  of  the  memorials  of  shipwrecks, 
for  instance,  would  be  simply  repulsive,  but  that  his  very  dryness  has  a 

sort  of  disinfectant  quality Everything  which  Thoreau  wrote  has  this 

peculiar  value,  that  no  other  observing  powers  were  like  his;  no  one  else  so  labori- 
ously verified  and  exhausted  the  facts;  and  no  other  mind  rose  from  them,  at  will, 
into  so  subtile  an  air  of  meditation." — Tht  Atlantic  Monthly,  March,  1865. 

"The  prose  of  Thoreau  is  daily  winning  recognition  as  possessing  some  of  the 
very  highest  qualities  of  thought  and  utterance,  in  a  degree  scarcely  rivalled  in 
contemporary  literature.  In  spite  of  whim  and  frequent  over-refining,  and  the 
entire  omission  of  many  important  aspects  of  human  life,  these  wondrous  merits 

exercise  their  charm Emerson  never  wilfully  leaves  a  point  unguarded, 

never  allows  himself  to  be  caught  in  undress.  Thoreau  spurns  this  punctiliousness, 
and  thus  impairs  his  average  execution;  while  for  the  same  reason  he  attains,  in 
favored  moments,  a  diction  more  flowing  and  a  more  lyric  strain  than  his  teacher 
ever  allows  himself,  at  least  in  prose.  He  also  secures,  through  this  daring,  the 
occasional  expression  of  more  delicate  as  well  as  more  fantastic  thoughts." — The 
Atlantic  Monthly,  October,  1865. 

"He  was  not  a  strong  thinker,  but  a  sensitive  feeler.  Yet  his  mind  strikes 
us  as  cold  and  wintry  in  its  purity.  A  light  snow  has  fallen  everywhere  where  he 
seems  to  come  on  the  track  of  the  shier  sensations  that  would  elsewhere  leave 

no  trace He  took  nature  as  the  mountain-path  to  an  ideal  world.  If  the 

path  wind  a  good  deal,  if  he  record  too  faithfully  every  trip  over  a  root,  if  he  botanize 
somewhat  wearisomely,  he  gives  us  now  and  then  superb  outlooks  from  some  jutting 
crag,  and  brings  us  out  at  last  into  an  illimitable  ether,  where  the  breathing  is  not 
difficult  for  those  who  have  any  true  touch  of  the  climbing  spirit.  His  shanty-life 
was  a  mere  impossibility,  so  far  as  his  own  conception  of  it  goes,  as  an  entire  inde- 
pendency of  mankind.  The  tub  of  Diogenes  had  a  sounder  bottom.  Thoreau's 
experiment  actually  presupposed  all  that  complicated  civilization  which  it  theo- 
retically abjured.  He  squatted  on  another  man's  land;  he  borrows  an  axe;  his 
boards,  his  nails,  his  bricks,  his  mortar,  his  books,  his  lamp,  his  fish-hooks,  his 


NOTES  699 


plough,  his  hoe,  all  turn  state's  evidence  against  him  as  an  accomplice  in  the  sin 
of  that  artificial  civilization  which  rendered  it  possible  that  such  a  person  as  Henry 
D.  Thoreau  should  exist  at  all.  Magnis  tamen  excidit  ausis.  His  aim  was  a  noble 
and  a  useful  one,  in  the  direction  of  'plain  living  and  high  thinking.'  It  was  a 
practical  sermon  on  Emerson's  text  that  'things  are  in  the  saddle  and  ride  man- 
kind,' an  attempt  to  solve  Carlyle's  problem  of  'lessening  your  denominator.'  His 
whole  life  was  a  rebuke  of  the  waste  and  aimlessness  of  our  American  luxury,  which 
is  an  abject  enslavement  to  tawdry  upholstery." — J.  R.  Lowell,  in  The  North 
American  Review,  October,  1865. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

(498)  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.     Nos.  IV  and  V.    The 
text  is  from  the  1858  edition. 

(499)  Of  covrse  it  wasn't  Proserpina:   in  No.  Ill,  when  it  was  published  in 
The  Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1858,  Holmes  had  written  that  Prosperpina  cut  the 
lock  from  Dido's  head  and  released  her  soul  from  the  body.    ^  used  herself  ungen- 
teelly:    Dido  had  yielded  to  lawless  love  for  &neas,  and  stabbed  herself  when  he 
forsook  her.      U  Madame  d'Enfer:     "Mistress  of  the  Lower  World,"  Proserpina. 
If  bathycolpian:   "deep-bosomed."   ^"Oceanic  Miscellany":   The  Atlantic  Monthly, 
in  which  the  Autocrat  first  appeared. 

(502)  "Soles  ....  possunt":  "Suns  may  sink  and  rise  again." — Catullus  v.  4. 
If  "trailing  clouds  of  glory:" :    Wordsworth's  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immor- 
tality," V,  7.     \ohne  phospkor-geruch:    "without  phosphorus  smell." 

(503)  pugil:  as  much  as  can  be  taken  up  between  the  thumb  and  two  fingers; 
a  pinch,    fl  rappee:   a  kind  of  snuff.    If  tonka-bean:   it  has  an  agreeable  smell,  and  is 
used  to  scent  snuff.    H  Lundy-Foot:  a  kind  of  snuff.    If  straw  cradle:   the  covering 
of  the  wine  bottle.    ^  one  among  you:   evidently  Holmes;  the  whole  passage  is  a 
reminiscence  of  his  residence  in  Paris  as  a  medical  student. 

(504)  Byron's  line: 

it  may  be  a  sound — 

A  tone  of  music — summer's  eve — or  spring — 
A  flower— the  wind— the  ocean— which  shall  wound, 
Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound. 

—Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  IV.  xxiii. 

If  Damiens:  he  tried  to  kill  the  French  king  in  1757,  and  was  punished  by  being 
torn  apart  by  four  horses.  Tf  Indians  are  tomahawking:  at  the  capture  of  Fort 
William  Henry  by  Montcalm,  in  1757,  his  Indian  allies  butchered  the  garrison; 
see  Cooper's  Last  of  the  Mohicans,  \cela  va  sans  dire:  "that  goes  without 
saying." 

(505)  stillicidium:  "falling  drop  by  drop."    If  "Quoiqu'elle  .  .  .  .  la  machine": 
"although  it  is  very  solidly  put  together,  the  machine  must  not  be  used  roughly." 

(5°7)  polyphlassbasan:   "loud-roaring." 

(509)  Hogarth's:    Hogarth  (1607-1764)  was  an  English  pictorial  satirist. 

(510)  "Desiderii  ....  Elzevirii":     "Colloquies    of    Desiderius    Erasmus. 
Amsterdam.    Press  of  Louis  Elzevir." 


700  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(511)  two  words:  "Our  Father."  If  prayer  of  Agur:  Prov.  30:8.  If"  Con- 
cilium Tridentinum  ":  the  Council  of  Trent,  a  famous  council  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  which  condemned  the  doctrines  of  the  Reformation. 

(513)  Bob  Logic:  a  character  in  Tom  and  Jerry  (1821).  ^  Listen:  an 
English  actor  (1776-1846). 

(515)  " Hunc  lapid em  ....  masrentes":  "This  stone  his  mourning  associates 
set  up."  If  arcus  senilis:  a  whitish  ring  in  the  eyes  of  old  people. 

(518)  Mijfu'  detfie  ee<£:  "The  wrath  sing,  goddess";  the  opening  words  of 
the  Iliad.  If  McFingal:  a  poem  on  the  Tories  of  the  American  Revolution,  by 
John  Trumbull.  ^  one  beautiful  hymn:  by  Addison. 

(520)  Farina:  a  personification  of  the  Latin  term  for  corn. 

(521)  maestros:    "masters".     If  virtuoso:    collector  of  works  of  art,  etc. 

(522)  Pedro  Klauss,  Tyroli,  fecit:   "  Pedro  Klauss  of  Tyrol  made  it."    ^"Nox 
erat,  ....  jurabas  mea":   "It  was  night,  and  the  moon  was  shining  in  the  clear 
sky  among  the  lesser  stars,  whilst  thou,  about  to  violate  the  divinity  of  the  great 
gods,  wert  swearing  faith  to  me  in  my  own  words." — Horace,  Epodes,  xv. 

(523)  devalise:     "robbed."     If  sergent-de-vilk:    "city  sergeant,"  policeman. 
f  Vogue  la  galere:   " Come  what  may."    If  Voleur:   "thief."     If  Don't:    i.e.,  Don't 
accuse  me  of  being  a  thief  too,  and  stealing  the  story.       ^  liberal  shepherds: 
from  Hamlet,  Act  IV,  scene  vii,  1.  172;   "liberal"  is  used  in  the  sense  of  "free  and 
easy"  in  the  use  of  words. 

(524)  Marsyas:  he  was  flayed  alive  by  Apollo  for  presuming  to  compete  with 
him  in  music.    If  Bartholinus:  a  Danish  physician  and  writer  of  the  early  seven- 
teenth century.     \in  terror  em:    "for  the  terror"  of  evil-doers.     If  <w  it  did  in 
Christiana's:    Pilgrim's  Progress,  Second  Part.    H  Hamlet's  remark  to  Horatio: 

There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio,     ' 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy. 

— Hamlet,  Act  I,  scene  v,  11.  166, 167. 

If  cutis  humana:   "human  skin." 

(525)  Machiavellian  astuteness:    Machiavelli  (1469-1527),  an  Italian  states- 
man, in  his  Prince  shows  wonderful  acuteness  in  the  art  of  handling  men.    If  Ex 
pede  Herculem:  "From  his  foot,  Hercules";  i.e.,  from  the  foot  the  size  and  strength 
of  the  whole  body  may  be  correctly  inferred.     If  Ex  ungue  ....  pronepotes: 
"From  the  nail  of  the  little  toe,  Hercules,  his  father,  mother,  grandfathers  and 
great-grandfathers,  sons,  grandsons  and  great-grandsons."    1f  fibs  wou  <rr<J :   "Give 
me  a  place  where  I  may  stand,"  and  I  will  move  the  world;  a  saying  attributed  to 
Archimedes,  a  Greek  mathematician  of  the  third  century  B.C.,  who  discovered  the 
principle  of  the  lever.    1f  the  "0"  revealed  Giotto:  Giotto,  the  Italian  painter  (1276- 
1337),  once  made  his  identity  known,  it  is  said,  by  drawing  a  perfect  circle  with 
one  sweep  of  the  hand.    If  Stratford-atte-Bowe-taught  Anglais:  cf.  Chaucer's  Canter- 
bury Tales,  "Prologue,"  11.  124-26: 

And  Frensh  she  spak  ful  faire  and  fetisly, 
After  the  scole  of  Stratford  atte  Bowe, 
For  Frensh  of  Paris  was  to  hir  unknowe. 


NOTES  701 


(526)  Priscian's:  Priscian  was  a  celebrated  Latin  grammarian,  living  about 
500  A.D.  If  captatores  verborum:  "capturers  of  words."  If  scarabceus  grammalicus: 
"grammatical  beetle." 

(532)  Golipile:    a  vessel  with  projecting  bent  tubes  through  which  steam  is 
forced  from  within,  causing  the  vessel  to  revolve.     ^  Peccavi:    "I  have  sinned." 

(533)  "the  boys":   cf.  Holmes's  poem,  "The  Boys,"  written  for  the  thirtieth 
reunion  of  his  college  class,  in  1859.    If  Byron  about  Santa  Croce:    after  speaking 
of  the  fact  that  Michelangelo,  Alfieri,  Galileo,  and  Machiavelli  are  buried  in  the 
church  of  Santa  Croce,  in  Florence,  Byron  continues  (Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage, 
IV.lv): 

These  are  four  minds,  which,  like  the  elements, 
Might  furnish  forth  creation. 


CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"It  [The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table]  is  a  genuine  book  of  its  kind,  and 
we  predict  for  Mr.  Holmes  a  large  share  of  favor  from  readers  on  this  side  of  the 

Atlantic All  these  characters,  it  is  evident  from  the  very  appellations  of 

some  of  them,  are  of  true  native  growth.  We  have  nothing  exactly  answering  to 
them  on  our  side  of  the  water,  and  this,  with  the  decidedly  national  flavor  of  the 
conversations  generally,  strongly  commends  itself  to  our  tastes.  The  author  appears 
to  be  a  scholar  and  a  traveller,  but  he  has  not  sunk  the  Yankee  in  the  cosmopolitan, 
and  we  like  his  book  all  the  better  for  it;  while  his  thoughts  have  depth  and  breadth 
enough  to  recommend  themselves  to  cultivated  men,  whether  of  the  Old  or  New 
World." — The  Economist,  as  reprinted  in  Litlell's  Living  Age,  March  5,  1859. 

"We  expected  a  great  deal  from  Dr.  Holmes;  we  thought  he  had  in  him  the 
makings  of  the  best  magazinist  in  the  country;  but  we  honestly  confess  we  were 
astonished.  We  remembered  the  proverb,  '  'Tis  the  pace  that  kills,'  and  could 
scarce  believe  that  such  a  two-forty  gait  could  be  kept  up  through  a  twelvemonth. 
Such  wind  and  bottom  were  unprecedented.  But  this  was  Eclipse  himself;  and 
he  came  in  as  fresh  as  a  May  morning,  ready  at  a  month's  end  for  another  year's 
run.  And  it  was  not  merely  the  perennial  vivacity,  the  fun  shading  down  to  serious- 
ness, and  the  seriousness  up  to  fun,  in  perpetual  and  charming  vicissitude; — here 
was  the  man  of  culture,  of  scientific  training,  the  man  who  had  thought  as  well  as  felt, 

and  who  had  fixed  purposes  and  sacred  convictions Dr.  Holmes  has  proved 

his  title  to  be  a  wit  in  the  earlier  and  higher  sense  of  the  word,  when  it  meant  a 
man  of  genius,  a  player  upon  thoughts  rather  than  words.  The  variety,  freshness, 
and  strength  which  he  has  lent  to  our  pages  during  the  last  three  years  seem  to 
demand  of  us  that  we  should  add  our  expression  of  admiration  to  that  which  his 
countrymen  have  been  so  eager  and  unanimous  in  rendering." — The  Atlantic 
Monthly,  April,  1861. 

"Who  has  not  read  Elsie  Venner  .  .  .  .  ?  It  is  superfluous  for  us  to  write  a 
word  about  its  perfect  characterization,  its  unsurpassed  traits  of  wit  and  veins  of 
humor,  and  its  gushes  of  such  tenderness  and  pathos  as  show  that  the  author 
sympathizes  with  his  dramatis  personae  as  heartily  as  if  they  were  of  his  own  house- 
hold  But  over  all  and  above  all,  the  book  has  a  value  almost  unapproached 


702  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  its  giving  us  a  wise  physician's  views  as  to  certain  physico-moral  and  physico- 
religious  states,  phenomena,  and  questions." — The  North  American  Review,  April, 
1861. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

(536)  LEAVES  FROM  MY  JOURNAL  IN  ITALY  AND  ELSEWHERE.    First  division. 
The  text  is  from  the  1864  edition.    Lowell  went  to  Europe  in  1851,  and  the  Leaves 
is  based  on  his  experiences  during  the  tour,    fl  Lucretius  made  this  discovery:   De 
Rerum  Natura  ii.  i,  2:    "Sweet  it  is  when  the  winds  are  agitating  the  surface  of 
the  vast  sea,  from  the  land  to  watch  the  great  labor  of  another."    If  Petrarch:   the 
Italian  poet  (1304-74),  the  perfecter  of  the  Italian  love  sonnet.    \  choragus:   leader 
of  the  choir.    H  the  piper  of  Hamelin:    see  Browning's  poem,  "The  Pied  Piper  of 
Hamelin."    If  Chateaubriand:   a  French  writer  (1768-1848)  of  a  sentimental  cast. 
T'sea  bounding  .  ...  his  rider":    Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  III.  ii. 

(537)  ne  quid  nimis:  "  nothing  too  much."    H  W.  M.  T.  and  A .  H.  C.:  William 
M.  Thackeray  and  Arthur  H.  Clough;  both  were  shipmates  of  Lowell  on  his  return 
to  America  in  1852. 

(538)  Calderon:   the  Spanish  dramatist  and  poet  (1600-81);  his  earlier  works 
abound  in  the  "conceits"  and  extravagances  of  style  which  were  then  popular. 
^  Moore:   the  Irish  poet  (1779-1852).     ^f  Gradus  ad  Parnassum:    "Steps  to  Par- 
nassus."   H  thesaurus:   "treasure-house."    If  did  the  flying-fish :  in  his  poem,  "The 
Flying-Fish." 

(539)  projection:  the  transmuting  of  a  baser  metal  into  gold  or  silver.  If  poured 
from  the  frozen  loins  of  the  populous  North:  adapted  from  Paradise  Lost,  I,  351,  352 : 

A  multitude,  like  which  the  populous  North 
Pour'd  never  from  her  frozen  loyns. 

^Chapman:  an  Elizabethan  poet  and  dramatist.  1f levee:  a  morning  reception; 
originally,  at  the  French  court,  a  reception  by  the  king  at  his  "rising"  from  bed — 
which  is  the  sense  here. 

(540)  elder  Edda:   the  earliest  Scandinavian  poems,  some  of  them  belonging 
to  the  ninth  century.     1f  Minnesingers:    German  love  poets  of  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries.     U  once  a  year:    on  All  Souls'  Day,  November  2.     1f  San 
Miniato's:   San  Miniato  is  an  old  church  near  Florence. 

(541)  Montaigne  in  his  tower:  Montaigne  (1533-92),  the  famous  French  essay- 
ist, had  for  his  study  a  room  at  the  top  of  a  tower  on  his  country  estate;  see  Pater's 
Gaston  de  Latour,  section  IV.    f  Dire,  ....  contredire:   "To  say,  to  re-say,  and 
to  contradict  myself."     \montagna  bruna:    see  Dante's  Divina  Commedia,  "In- 
ferno," XXVI,  in  which  is  described  a  voyage  of  Ulysses  into  strange  seas,  where 
he  sees  a  "mountain  dark  through  the  distance"  and  is  wrecked  by  a  whirlwind 
that  blows  from  it.    ^f  St.  Saga:   a  humorous  personification  and  canonization  of 
Scandinavian  sagas,  or  legends.     If  Faustus:    a  German  astrologer  and  magician 
of  the  early  sixteenth  century,  who  was  reputed  to  have  sold  himself  to  the  Devil. 
\  Don  Juan:  a  partly  legendary  Spanish  character  of  the  fourteenth  century,  famous 
for  his  libertinism.    K  Tanhaiiser:  a  German  poet  of  the  thirteenth  century;  a  German 
ballad  of  the  sixteenth  century  tells  of  his  residence  with  the  goddess  of  love  in  the 
Venus-berg.    1f  Gallic  cock-crow  of  universal  enlightenment:   the  rationalistic  French 


NOTES  703 


thinkers  of  the  eighteenth  century  prided  themselves  on  banishing  all  superstition. 
For  the  reference  to  the  popular  superstition  that  ghosts  vanished  at  dawn,  cf. 
A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  III,  scene  ii,  11.  380-82: 

And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger; 

At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and  there 

Troop  home  to  churchyards. 

1f  Outre-M er:  "Beyond  Sea."  ^  the  old  Scandinavian  snake:  a  monster  of  Norse 
mythology,  who  holds  his  tail  in  his  mouth  and  encircles  the  earth.  If  made  ducks 
and  drakes  of:  thrown  away;  "ducks  and  drakes"  is  a  fanciful  expression  for  skip- 
ping stones  on  the  surface  of  water.  \  Professor  Owen:  Richard  Owen,  a  contem- 
porary paleontologist;  a  few  sentences  below  he  is  playfully  called  Monkbarns, 
after  the  antiquary  in  Scott's  Antiquary.  H  stretch  many  a  rood:  cf.  the  description 
of  Satan  in  Paradise  Lost,  I.  196,  "Lay  floating  many  a  rood."  ^  glass:  the  glass 
front  of  the  tank  in  the  aquarium. 

(542)  phoca=stal.    ^eocene  ....  and  tertiary:  geological  terms  referring  to 
the  earliest  ages  of  the  earth.    ^  plesiosaur:   an  extinct  sea-monster  of  prehistoric 
time.    U  Hakluyt  and  Purchas:   English  authors  of  the  sixteenth  and  early  seven- 
teenth centuries,  who  published  collections  of  voyagers'  tales.    ^  Martin:  an  English 
traveler,  author  of  a  book,  The  Western  Islands  of  Scotland  (1703).    H  hortus  siccus: 
"dry  garden,"  a  collection  of  dried  plants,    f  Job  Hortop:   a  gunner  on  Hawkins' 
third  voyage,  1567-68;  in  his  narrative,  as  rewritten  by  Hakluyt,  he  says:  "When 
we  came  in  the  height  [  =  latitude]  of  Bermuda,  we  discovered  a  monster  in  the  sea, 
who  shewed  himself e  three  times  unto  us  from  the  middle  upwards,  in  which  parts 
hee  was  proportioned  like  a  man,  of  the  complection  of  a  Mulatto  or  tawny  Indian. 
The  Generall  did  commaund  one  of  his  clearks  to  put  it  in  writing,  and  hee  certified 
the  King  and  his  Nobles  thereof." — Hakluyt's  Voyages,  III,  493,  edition  of  1600. 
If  Webster,  in  his  "Witchcraft":  John  Webster,  an  English  clergyman,  published 
The  Displaying  of  Supposed  Witchcraft  in  1677.     1f  St.  Antony:   a  monk  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  who,  it  is  said,  once  preached  to  an  attentive  school  of  fishes. 
If  Sir  John  Hawkins:  an  English  voyager  and  admiral  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

(543)  Henry  Hawkes:  a  merchant  who  lived  five  years  in  Mexico  and  described 
the  country  in  Hakluyt's  English  Voyages;  he  says:   "The  Spanyards  have  notice 

of  seven  cities They  have  used  and  use  dayly  much  diligence  in  seeking  of 

them,  but  they  cannot  find  any  one  of  them.    They  say  that  the  witchcraft  of  the 
Indians  is  such,  that  when  they  come  by  these  townes  they  cast  a  mist  upon  them, 
so  that  they  cannot  see  them." — Hakluyt  Society's  Publications,  Extra  Series, 
Vol.  IX.    f  that  which  Thor  strove  to  drain:   the  Norse  god,  Thor,  in  a  drinking- 
match  tried  in  vain  to  drink  dry  a  long  horn,  which  proved  to  be  connected  with 
the  sea.    1f  magical  foundation-stones  of  a  Tempest:    Shakspere  is  supposed  to  have 
got  some  hints  for  The  Tempest  from  an  account  of  a  shipwreck  in  the  Bermudas. 
If  Marco  Polo:   a  Venetian  traveler  (1254-1324)  to  the  Far  East,  including  China. 
If  Milton:   Comus,  11.  207-9.    If  Bruce' s  Abyssinian  kings:  James  Bruce  (1730-94), 
a  Scotch  traveler,  explored  Abyssinia.     1f  Prester  John:    a  mythical  Christian 
emperor,  who  was  believed  to  have  a  great  empire  in  Asia,  or,  according  to  another 
account,  in  Abyssinia;    see  The  Voiage  and  Travaile  of  Sir  John  Maundeville,  Kt., 
chapter  27.    If  Vulgar  Errors:  the  English  form  of  the  title  of  a  work  by  Sir  Thomas 


704  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Browne  (1605-82),  in  which  he  exploded,  delightfully,  many  delightful  errors. 
If  nidificated  =  made  nests,  ^monopodes:  "In  that  Contree  ben  folk,  that  han  but 
o  [  =  one]  foot:  ....  and  the  foot  is  so  large  that  it  schadewethe  alle  the  Body 
azen  [  =  against]  the  Sonne,  whanne  thei  wole  lye  and  reste  hem." — The  Voiage 
and  Travaile  of  Sir  John  Maundevilk,  Kt.,  chapter  14.  f  Acephali:  men  without 
heads;  Herodotus  mentions  them  in  his  History  iv.  igi.  f  Roc:  see  The  Arabian 
Nights,  "Story  of  Sinbad,"  etc. 

(544)  tails  of  the  men  of  Kent:  Browne,  in  Vulgar  Errors,  Book  IV,  chapter  10, 
gives  two  popular  explanations  for  the  existence  of  the  tails — one,  that  the  Kentish 
men,  while  pagans,  tied  fishtails  to  the  monks  who  came  to  convert  them;  the 
other,  that  they  cut  off  the  tail  of  the  horse  of  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  If  Orellana: 
a  Spanish  soldier  (1400-1546),  who  first  explored  the  Amazon  River;  he  named  it 
for  a  race  of  female  warriors  whom  he  said  he  saw  in  that  region.  U  those  who  have 
robbed  us,  etc.:  cf.  Othello,  Act  III,  scene  iii,  11. 150-61: 

But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name 

Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him 

And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

(544)  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  The  text  is  from  The  North  American  Review, 
January,  1864,  where  the  article  bears  the  title,  "The  President's  Message,  Decem- 
ber, 1863,"  with  a  running  title,  "The  President's  Policy."  This  form  of  the  essay 
has  special  interest,  as  showing  Lowell's  view  of  Lincoln  before  he  had  been  canon- 
ized by  martyrdom.  A  few  passages  on  contemporary  politics  have  been  omitted. 
If  South  Carolina:  it  seceded  on  December  20,  1860;  ten  more  states  seceded  early 
in  the  next  year. 

(546)  A  President:   James  Buchanan.    If  a  party  ....  with  long  training  in 
opposition:  the  Republican  party  was  not  formed  until  1854,  but  it  included  many 
Free-Soilers  and  Abolitionists  who  had  long  opposed  the  party  in  power. 

(547)  Cockneyism:  characteristics  of  the  inhabitants  of  London.    If  epicedium 
=  funeral  song.    If  a  chief  magistrate  without  experience  and  without  reputation:   at 
the  time  of  his  election  to  the  presidency  Lincoln  had  held  no  public  offices  except 
those  of  state  legislator  and  member  of  Congress,  the  latter  for  two  years  only; 
what  reputation  he  had  was  due  chiefly  to  his  debates  with  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  in 
1858,  when  both  were  candidates  for  the  United  States  senatorship  from  Illinois. 

(548)  four  millions  of  people:   the  slaves.    1f  unwilling  liberators:   at  the  out- 
break of  the  war  relatively  few  Northerners  were  in  favor  of  emancipation. 

(550)  a  communicant  with  the  church  of  Laodicea:    i.e.,  lukewarm;    cf.  Rev. 
3:14-16:    "And  unto  the  angel  of  the  church  of  the  Laodiceans  write:  ....  So 
then  because  thou  art  lukewarm,  and  neither  cold  nor  hot,  I  will  spue  thee  out  of 
my  mouth." 

(551)  Mazarin's:    Cardinal  Mazarin  (1602-61)  was  a  French  statesman  of 
Sicilian  birth,  who  continued  the  policies  of  Richelieu.     ^  Le  temps  et  moi:    "The 
time  and  I."    H  Semper  nocuit  differre  paralis:   "  It  is  always  harmful  to  delay  when 
things  are  ready." 

(552)  Henry  IV. :  king  of  France,  1580-1610;  at  first  a  leader  of  the  Hugue- 
nots, he  became  a  Roman  Catholic  in  1593.    f  Bearnois:   Henry  was  a  native  of 
Beam,  a  province  of   France.     1f  soi-disant:    "so-called."     1f  Sancho  Panza:    the 


NOTES  705 


squire  of  Don  Quixote,  in  Cervantes'  romance  of  that  title;   he  finally  becomes 
governor  of  a  city. 

(553)  full  of  wise  saws,  etc.:  As  You  Like  It,  Act  II,  scene  vii,  1. 156.     1T  bien- 
seance:    "civility."     1f  Sphinx:    in  ancient  Thebes  a  monster,  half  lion  and  half 
woman,  lay  by  the  highway  and  propounded  a  riddle  to  passers-by;   those  who 
failed  to  guess  the  riddle  were  killed. 

(554)  Atropos:   one  of  the  Fates,  who  cut  the  thread  of  human  life.    H  king 
of  Ithaca:   Odysseus,  or  Ulysses,  reputed  the  shrewdest  of  the  Greeks  at  the  siege  of 
Troy,     f  Antonio:    a  singular  slip  (corrected  in  the  later  editions)  for  Bassanio; 
see  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  III,  scene  ii.    If  childish  simplicity  of  the  solution: 
the  Sphinx  asked,  "What  animal  in  the  morning  goes  on  four  feet,  at  noon  on  two, 
and  at  evening  on  three?"    (Edipus  solved  the  riddle  by  replying,  "Man,  who 
creeps  in  childhood,  walks  in  middle  life,  and  uses  a  staff  in  old  age." 

(555)  the  right  of  making  war  against  any  foreign  power:   this  right  is  expressly 
denied  the  separate  states  by  the  Constitution,    f  without  any  arbiter:  the  defenders 
of  state  sovereignty  denied  that  the  Supreme  Court  was  such  an  arbiter;    see 
Calhoun's  speech,  p.  596,  the  paragraph  beginning,  "That  the  Government  claims." 

(557)  Pontoppidan:    a  Danish  naturalist  (1698-1764),  who  in  his  Natural 
History  of  Nonvay  describes  the  kraken,  the  sea-serpent,  and  other  marvels.    If  their 
cardinal  principle  was  disunion:  cf .  Lowell's  own  Biglow  Papers,  No.  i : 

Ef  I'd  my  way  I  bed  rutber 

We  should  go  to  work  an'  part, 
They  take  one  way,  we  take  t'other, 

Guess  it  wouldn't  break  my  heart. 

1  the  Kansas  outrages:   when  Kansas  was  opened  as  a  territory,  in  1854,  a  bloody 
struggle  began  between  settlers  favoring  slavery  and  those  opposed  to  it. 

(558)  the  stars  in  their  courses,  etc.:    Judg.  5:20.     fas  the  West  Saxons  did: 
Bede,  in  his  Ecclesiastical  History  of  the  English  Nation,  Book  II,  chapter  13,  tells  a 
story  like  this,  but  of  the  Northumbrians,  not  the  West  Saxons. 

(560)  Purchase  of  Louisiana:    this  vast  tract,  stretching  from  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  to  British  North  America,  and  from  the  Mississippi  to  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
was  bought  of  France  in  1803,  for  $15,000,000.    Tf  Embargo:  in  retaliation  for  inter- 
ference with  neutral  trade  during  the  Napoleonic  wars,  the  United  States  in  1808 
placed  an  embargo  on  all  merchant  vessels,  domestic  or  foreign,  in  American  ports, 
forbidding  them  to  leave  except  by  special  permission  from  the  President.    T  Removal 
of  the  Deposits:    President  Andrew  Jackson,  in  the  course  of  his  fight  against  the 
United  States  Bank,  in  1833  ordered  the  deposits  in  the  bank  to  be  removed  to 
certain  local  banks.    ^  Annexation  of  Texas:  the  republic  of  Texas,  which  had  freed 
itself  from  Mexico  in  1836,  was  annexed  to  the  United  States,  at  its  own  request, 
in  1845.     If  those  dastards:    "I  saw  and  recognized  the  shade  of  him  who  made, 
through  cowardice,  the  great  refusal.    At  once  I  understood,  and  was  certain,  that 
this  was  the  sect  of  the  caitiffs  displeasing  to  God  and  to  his  enemies." — Dante's 
Divina  Commedia,  "Inferno,"  III,  59-63. 

(561)  guerilleros:  "guerrillas,"  men  engaged  in  irregular  warfare;  not  regular 
soldiers.    ^  Act  of  Settlement:   an  act  of  Parliament,  in  1701,  settling  the  succession 
to  the  English  throne.    *[  vis  inertia:  "force  of  inertia." 


706  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(562)  the  President's  proclamation:  the  Emancipation  Proclamation  of  January 
i,  1863.    If  salus  populi  suprema  lex:  "  the  safety  of  the  people  is  the  supreme  law." 

(563)  Guy  Fawkes:    the  leader  in  the  famous  Gunpowder  Plot  to  blow  up 
Parliament,  on  November  5,  1605.     f  Afagna  Charta:    the  "Great  Charter"  of 
English  liberty,  granted  by  King  John  in  1215.    ^  proclamation  of  amnesty:  issued 
December  8,  1863;  with  certain  exceptions,  it  promised  "full  pardon"  for  having 
"participated  in  the  existing  rebellion." 

(564)  our  future  Poland:    by  the  treaty  of  Vienna,  in  1814,  Russian  Poland 
was  made  a  constitutional  monarchy  subject  to  the  Czar,  but  after  the  rebellion 
of  the  Poles,  1830,  the  kingdom  became  a  mere  province  of  Russia.     1f  without 
book:    without    consulting    authorities,    and    hence    inaccurately.     H  "Girar   la 
Liberia  ....  non  mat":    "I  saw  Liberty  go  around,  and,  joyful,  kiss  every  ruin, 
and  say,  'Ruins,  yes,  but  servitude  never.'" 

(564)  CARLYLE.    The  text  is  from  The  North  American  Review,  April,  1866. 

(565)  divine  Cowley:   Abraham  Cowley  (1618—67)  had  a  high  reputation  as  a 
poet  during  his  lifetime,  but  was  soon  almost  forgotten.    ^  Pontus:   a  country  of 
Asia  Minor,  bordering  on  the  Black  Sea,  to  which  the  poet  Ovid  was  exiled. 
If"  British  Poets":   a  collection  of  the  poets,  great  and  small,  in  many  volumes, 
more  respected   than  read.     If  Pepys:   his  diary   (1660-69)   gives   entertaining 
pictures  of  the  age.     If  Tithonus:  he  was  loved  by  Eos,  goddess  of  the  dawn,  who 
secured  immortality  for  him,  but  forgot  to  ask  for  perpetual  youth.     H  Hemera: 
the  Greek  word  for  "day."    ^Glaucus:  a  fisherman,  who,  happening  to  eat  of  a 
certain  plant,  had  an  irresistible  desire  to  leap  into  the  water,  where  he  became 
a  minor  sea-god. 

(566)  Churchill:    an  English  satiric  poet  (1731-64).      ^  the   Chalmers   col- 
umbarium:   a  collection  of  the  British  poets,  in  twenty-one  volumes,  edited  by 
Alexander  Chalmers.     A  columbarium  is  literally  a  sepulcher,  with  niches  for 
burial  urns.     If  Cavalcanti:   a  minor  Italian  poet  of  the  thirteenth  century.    ^  si 
absit  prudenlia:   "if  sagacity  be  absent." 

(568)  Kremlin:   the  citadel  of  Moscow,  with  many  towers. 

(570)  Den  Gegenstand  fest  zu  halten:    "Hold  fast  to  the  object."     H  geognosy: 
knowledge  of  the  structure  of  the  earth.     ^  Boswell:    the  biographer  of  Samuel 
Johnson. 

(571)  the  Rev.  Dr.  Sterne:  the  author  of  the  whimsical  novel,  Tristram  Shandy. 
If  Jean  Paul:  the  pseudonym  of  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter  (1763-1825),  a  German 
writer. 

(572)  Heine:  a  German  poet  (1797-1856)  of  Jewish  descent.    H  the  bow  of 
Philocletes:  Philoctetes  inherited  the  bow  and  poisoned  arrows  of  Heracles,  without 
which  Troy  could  not  be  taken.    ^  Rabelais:  a  French  humorist  and  satirist  (1495- 
ISS3);   his  chief  works  are  Gargantua  and  Pantagruel.    H  Cervantes:    the  Spanish 
poet  and  novelist  (1547-1616),  author  of  Don  Quixote. 

(574)  Gotz  of  the  Iron  Hand:  a  name  given  to  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  an  old 
German  baron,  of  fierce  nature,  whose  right  hand  had  been  replaced  by  an  iron  one; 
he  is  the  subject  of  a  play  by  Goethe.  U  Fauslrecht:  "fist-right,"  the  law  of  force. 
\  Cromwell:  Carlyle  had  edited  his  speeches  and  letters,  and  acquitted  him  of  the 
charge  of  selfish  ambition.  H  Prynne:  a  Presbyterian  lawyer,  whose  ears  were 


•NOTES  707 


cropped  by  order  of  the  Star  Chamber  under  Charles  I;  being  expelled  from  Parlia- 
ment, at  the  time  of  Pride's  Purge  in  1648,  he  took  sides  with  the  king,  and  was 
thrown  into  prison  under  the  Puritan  Commonwealth,  f  Friedrich:  Frederick 
the  Great  of  Prussia,  ^dummes  Zeug:  "stupid  stuff."  f  Crebillon  fits:  a  French 
novelist,  contemporary  with  Frederick. 

(575)  Ecclefechan:    an  error  (corrected  in  the  later  editions)  for  Kirkcaldy; 
Ecclefechan  was  Carlyle's  birthplace.    f  Dr.  Francia:  dictator  of  Paraguay,  1817- 
40;    Carlyle's  article  on  him  appeared  in  The  Foreign  Quarterly  Review  in  1843. 
f  a  tree:    the  gallows-tree.     f  Jesuits'  bark:    Peruvian  bark,  or  quinine;    called 
Jesuits'  bark  because  its  virtues  were  made  known  to  Europe  by  Jesuit  missionaries 
to  South  America,    f  Berserkers:  heroes  of  Teutonic  mythology,  who  fought  naked, 
frenzied  with  liquor,  and  heedless  of  wounds.    f  Lynch:  Charles  Lynch,  a  Virginia 
colonel,  who  supported  the  Revolution  and  maintained  order  in  his  region  by  sum- 
mary punishments  of  Tories  and  other  offenders. 

(576)  Montaigne  is  but  Ecclesiasles:  the  reference  is  to  the  spirit  of  skepticism 
and  world-weariness  in  both,  as  expressed  in  Eccles.  i :  2,  "Vanity  of  vanities,  .... 
all  is  vanity."    f  Voltaire  ....  Lucian:   both  were  mocking  satirists  of  popular 
religion,  the  former  in  France  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  latter  in  Greece  and 
other  parts  of  the  Roman  Empire  in  the  second  century. 

(577)  Saul  seeking  his  father's  asses,  etc.:    I  Sam.  g.     f  "fair,  large  ears": 
Titania's  words  to  Bottom,  after  his  head  had  been  changed  to  an  ass's  head,  in 
A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  IV,  scene  i,  1.  4.    f  Nee  deus,  nee  lupus,  sed  homo: 
"Not  a  god  nor  a  wolf  but  a  man." 

(578)  Fritziad:    an  epic  having  Frederick  for  hero.     f  Seven  Years  War:    a 
war  waged  successfully  by  Frederick  in  1756-63,  against  several  nations,  including 
France,  Austria,  and  Russia. 

(580)  that  unmatchable  scene  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra:    Act  II,  scene  vii. 

(581)  "Life  is  a  tale',"  etc.:     Macbeth,  Act  V,   scene  v,  11.  26-28.     f  Don 
Belianises:    Don  Belianis  was  a  hero  in  a  Spanish  romance  (1547),  a  continua- 
tion of  Amadis  of  Gaul. 

(582)  Dr.  Busby:  an  English  schoolmaster  of  the  seventeenth  century,  famous 
for  his  use  of  the  rod.    f  Aristophanes:  the  foremost  Greek  comic  poet  (4507-380? 
B.C.);   an  aristocrat  and  conservative,  he  ridiculed  demagogues  in  his  comedies,  as 
in  The  Knights,    f  West-End:  the  aristocratic  section  of  London.    ^"Pelham":  a 
novel  (1828)  by  Bulwer;  its  subtitle  is  The  Adventures  of  a  Gentleman,    f  Wishart: 
a  Scotch  religious  reformer,  burned  at  the  stake  in  1546.     f  Brown:    probably 
Robert  Brown  (i55o?-i633?),  the  founder  of  the  Brownists,  a  sect  from  which 
developed  the  Independents,  or  Congregationalists.     If  Edward  Irving:    an  early 
friend  of  Carlyle;   he  became  a  popular  preacher  of  sensational  doctrines. 

(583)  "the  wisest  of  this  generation":   Goethe;  so  styled  by  Carlyle  in  Sartor 
Resartus,  Book  I,  chapter  10.    f  Draco:   he  formulated  the  first  code  of  laws  for 
Athens,  in  the  seventh  century  B.C.,  and,  according  to  tradition,  affixed  the  death 
penalty  to  nearly  all  offenses. 

(584)  Pharos = lighthouse,     fa  beautiful  picture  of  an  old  king:    in  Pippa 
Passes,  Part  III.    f  the  purse  of  Fortunatus:  it  could  never  be  emptied,    f  elixir  vilae: 
"elixir  of  life,"  a  drink  giving  immortality,     f  nisi  dignus  vindice  nodus:  "unless 


708  AMERICAN  PROSE 


the  difficulty  is  one  that  deserves  a  liberator."  ^  Charlemagne:  king  of  the  Franks, 
768-814;  he  finally  united  under  his  sway  all  the  races  of  continental  Germany, 
and  as  in  a  sense  a  restorer  of  the  power  of  the  Caesars  he  was  crowned  "Emperor 
of  the  Romans"  at  Rome  in  800.  H  the  Siegfried  of  Anarchy:  i.e.,  the  slayer  of 
anarchy,  as  Siegfried,  the  hero  of  the  Niebelungenlied  (the  great  German  epic  of 
the  Middle  Ages),  slays  the  dragon.  ^  that  empire:  the  Roman  Empire. 

(585)  the  war  which  a  great  people  was  waging:  the  American  Civil  War. 
"'No  war  ever  raging  in  my  time,'  he  said,  ....  'was  to  me  more  profoundly 
foolish-looking.'  ....  He  spoke  of  it  scornfully  as  'a  smoky  chimney  which  had 
taken  fire.'"— Froude's  Thomas  Carlyle,  Vol.  IV,  p.  209.  H  with  the  eyes  of  a  valet: 
the  allusion  is  to  the  proverb,  "No  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet." 

(587)  Turenne:  a  great  French  general  (1611-75),  who  won  victories  over 
the  Germans  and  Spaniards.  ^  H  of  rath:  "Court  Councillor,"  a  title  of  honor. 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM- 

"  Containing  the  deliberate  words  of  perhaps  the  best  of  living  English  critics — 
his  final  judgments  on  many  of  the  great  names  of  literature;  judgments  which 
are  the  result  of  long  and  wide  study  and  reading,  of  marvellous  acuteness  of  sight 
and  delicacy  of  sympathy;  containing  a  poet's  opinion  of  other  poets,  a  wit's 
opinion  of  other  wits;  ....  this  book  of  Mr.  Lowell's  [Among  My  Books]  is  one 
of  the  best  gifts  that  for  many  years  has  come  to  the  world  of  English  literature." 
— The  Nation,  April  21,  1870. 

"On  the  whole,  we  think  this  volume  [My  Study  Windows]  may  with  proba- 
bility be  expected  even  to  increase  its  author's  great  reputation  as  one  of  the  best 
of  critics  and  one  of  the  wittiest  of  men.  We  still  mingle  with  our  gratitude,  however, 
some  grumbling  that  there  should  be  so  much  too  much  wit  and  point,  and  some 
supersubtleties  of  interpretation." — The  Nation,  February  23,  1871. 

"Lowell  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  form  of  literature,  semi-critical,  semi- 
creative,  in  which  he  has  recently  distinguished  himself The  cultivated 

American  public  should  thank  one  who  has  amused  and  diverted  it  as  well  as  he 
has  done  for  the  solid  instruction  which  this  volume  [Among  My  Books,  Second 
Series]  conveys  in  a  style  at  once  scholarly,  fresh,  and  refined." — The  Catholic 
World,  April,  1876. 

"The  other  leading  articles  in  both  of  Mr.  Lowell's  volumes  [Among  My  Books, 
First  and  Second  Series],  notably  those  on  Dryden,  Shakespeare,  Lessing,  Words- 
worth, and  Milton,  exhibit,  with  some  difference  of  degree  perhaps,  the  same 
conscientious  thoroughness,  the  same  minutest  accuracy  of  observation,  the  same 
elegance  and  force  of  language,  the  same  mastery  of  esthetic  principles,  and  what 
is  equally  essential  to  all  good  criticism,  a  healthful  moral  tone,  such  as  is  bora 
only  of  sound  principles  and  genuine  conviction." — The  International  Review, 
January,  1877. 

"As  a  critic  of  belles  letlres  he  has  scarcely  any  living  equal;  and  if  we  are 
allowed — as  surely  we  should  be — to  give  more  marks  for  sanity  than  for  any  other 
quality  of  criticism,  he  ranks  higher,  perhaps,  than  any  rival.  Great  delicacy  of 
perception  and  a  discriminative  faculty,  '  piercing,  even  to  the  dividing  asunder  of 
soul  and  spirit,'  in  a  piece  of  literary  work,  are  accompanied,  in  Mr.  Lowell's  case, 


NOTES  709 


by  a  most  commendable  freedom  from  crotchet  and  affectation,  and  a  consistent 
sobriety  of  judgment." — H.  D.  Traill,  in  The  Fortnightly  Review,  July  i,  1885. 

"With  delicate  powers  of  appreciation  and  discrimination,  with  a  sensitive 
instinct  for  comparative  analysis,  he  was  blessed  with  a  singularly  retentive  memory. 
Abounding  in  rich  illustration  and  apposite  quotation,  he  evidently  had  seldom  to 
hunt  up  a  reference.  Consequently  his  thoughts  found  lucid  expression  in  a  bright 
and  flowing  style,  and  the  great  attraction  of  his  innumerable  articles  on  miscel- 
laneous subjects  is  that  they  are  essentially  and  eminently  readable The 

charm  that  lures  you  on  when  you  drop  casually  into  one  of  his  literary  essays  is 
partly  in  the  new  and  unexpected  lights  which  are  continually  flashing  before  you, 
and  partly  in  the  humour  and  the  pointed  satire  which  are  essential  parts  of 
himself."— The  Edinburgh  Review,  October,  i8gi. 

"In  genuine  catholicity  of  taste,  we  venture  to  think,  no  English  critic  of  the 
past  half  century  has  surpassed  Mr.  Lowell.  Which  critic  of  them  all  could  have 
written  two  such  thoroughly  sympathetic  studies  on  men  world-wide  apart  in  tem- 
per, as  Lowell's  essay  on  Dryden  and  on  Dante?  And  if  his  writing  lacks  the 
chasteness,  temperance,  and  balance  of  such  a  master  of  style  as  Arnold,  we  shall 
find  ample  compensation  in  his  originality,  his  wealth  of  imagination,  humor,  and 
wisdom." — C.  T.  Winchester,  in  The  Review  of  Reviews,  October,  1891. 

JOHN  C.   CALHOUN 

(589)  SPEECH  ON  THE  SLAVERY  QUESTION.  The  text  is  from  the  1854  edition. 
Several  pages  near  the  end  of  the  speech,  discussing  the  case  of  California,  then 
seeking  admission  as  a  state,  are  omitted  as  being  of  inferior  interest  now.  The  speech 
was  read  in  the  United  States  Senate,  March  4,  1850,  by  a  colleague  of  Mr.  Calhoun; 
the  latter  was  present,  but  was  too  feeble  to  speak;  he  died  on  March  31.  The 
speech  was  occasioned  by  one  of  the  great  crises  in  the  long  struggle  over  slavery 
in  the  United  States.  The  war  with  Mexico  (1846-48)  resulted  in  the  acquisition 
of  vast  territories,  including  New  Mexico,  Utah,  and  California.  A  fierce  contest 
at  once  began  over  the  question  whether  slavery  should  be  allowed  in  these  regions. 
Henry  Clay,  the  great  reconciler,  presented  in  the  Senate  the  so-called  Omnibus 
Bill  of  1850,  a  compromise  skilfully  contrived  to  win  the  support  of  the  moderate 
men  of  all  factions:  California  was  to  be  admitted  as  a  free  state;  the  territories 
of  Utah  and  New  Mexico  were  to  be  organized  without  mention  of  slavery;  the 
slave  trade  was  to  be  prohibited  in  the  District  of  Columbia;  and  a  more  stringent 
fugitive-slave  law  was  to  be  enacted.  The  question  whether  this  bill  should  be 
passed  was  before  the  Senate  when  Mr.  Calhoun's  speech  was  read. 

(593)  the  Missouri  co mpromise:  adopted  in  1820.    f  The  last  of  the  series:  the 
act  organizing  Oregon  as  a  territory,  without  slavery,  in  1848. 

(594)  such  duties  must  necessarily  fall  mainly  on  the  exporting  Slates:    cf .  Cal- 
houn's speech  of  August  5,  1842:    "To  make  good  the  position  taken,  I  rely  on  a 
simple  fact,  which  none  will  deny — that  imports  are  received  in  exchange  for  exports. 
....  The  real  competition,  then,  is  with  that  industry  which  produces  the  articles 
for  export,  ....  and  brings  back  the  imported  articles  in  exchange  for  them; 
and  the  real  complaint  is,  that  those  so  employed  can  furnish  the  market  cheaper 
than  those  who  manufacture  articles  similar  to  the  imported;   and  what,  in  truth, 


710  AMERICAN  PROSE 


is  asked,  is, — that  this  cheaper  process  of  supplying  the  market  should  be  taxed,  by 
imposing  high  duties  on  the  importation  of  the  articles  received  in  exchange  for 
those  exported." 

(596)  the  Government  claims  .  ...  the  right  to  decide  .  ...  as  to  the  extent 
of  its  powers:  Daniel  Webster,  the  great  exponent  and  defender  of  this  view,  said 
in  his  reply  to  Hayne,  January  26,  1830:  "It  is  quite  plain,  that  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  confers  on  the  government  itself  ....  this  power  of  deciding 
ultimately  and  conclusively  upon  the  just  extent  of  its  own  authority.  If  this  had 
not  been  done,  we  should  not  have  advanced  a  single  step  beyond  the  old  Confedera- 
tion." He  quotes  in  proof  these  words  of  the  Constitution:  "The  judicial  power 
shall  extend  to  all  cases  arising  under  the  Constitution  and  laws  of  the  United 
States." 

(605)  Senator  from  Kentucky:  Henry  Clay;  his  "plan"  was  the  Omnibus 
Bill  outlined  in  the  note  above.  If  Wilmot  Proviso:  so  named  from  David  Wilmot, 
of  Pennsylvania,  who  presented  it  in  Congress  in  1846;  it  prohibited  slavery  in 
new  territory  acquired  by  the  United  States. 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"  His  style  is  more  close  and  sententious  than  is  common  in  American  speakers, 
his  manner  energetic,  his  delivery  rapid,  his  figure  tall,  his  countenance  full  of 
animation  and  intelligence.  It  is  the  opinion  of  good  judges  that  he  would  succeed 
better  in  the  English  House  of  Commons  than  any  other  Transatlantic  orator; 
but  they  add  that  he  has  somewhat  of  a  metaphysical  tendency — which  certainly 
never  suits  that  atmosphere." — The  Quarterly  Review,  December,  1840. 

"Mr.  Calhoun  was  calculated  to  be  a  leader  in  whatsoever  association  of 
political  friends  he  was  thrown.  He  was  a  man  of  undoubted  genius  and  of  com- 
manding talent.  All  the  country  and  all  the  world  admit  that.  His  mind  was  both 
perceptive  and  vigorous.  It  was  clear,  quick,  and  strong.  Sir,  the  eloquence  of 
Mr.  Calhoun,  or  the  manner  in  which  he  exhibited  his  sentiments  in  public  bodies, 
was  part  of  his  intellectual  character.  It  grew  out  of  the  qualities  of  his  mind.  It 
was  plain,  strong,  terse,  condensed,  concise;  sometimes  impassioned,  still  always 
severe.  Rejecting  ornament,  not  often  seeking  far  for  illustration,  his  power  con- 
sisted in  the  plainness  of  his  propositions,  in  the  closeness  of  his  logic,  and  in  the 
energy  and  earnestness  of  his  manner.  These  are  the  qualities,  as  I  think,  which 
have  enabled  him  through  such  a  long  course  of  years  to  speak  often,  and  yet 
always  command  attention."— Daniel  Webster,  in  the  United  States  Senate, 
April  i,  1850. 

"The  style  of  this  work  [Disquisition  on  Government,  etc.]  is  characteristic, 
and  its  literary  merits  are  considerable.  The  author  was  too  much  in  earnest,  and 
too  severe  a  reasoner,  both  in  his  speeches  and  his  writings,  to  pay  much  attention 

to  the  mere  garb  of  his  thought As  a  reasoner,  Mr.  Calhoun  was  just, 

intrepid,  and  consistent.  He  traced  out  his  doctrines  to  their  remotest  consequences, 
and  shrank  from  no  conclusion  that  could  be  legitimately  deduced  from  them,  how- 
ever it  might  shock  the  received  opinions  and  common  judgments  of  mankind. 
Here,  indeed,  was  his  great  defect  as  a  thinker.  He  was  partially  blinded  by  his 
own  ingenuity  and  the  severity  of  his  logic.  The  thread  of  his  argument  was  spun 


NOTES  711 


so  fine,  that  ordinary  people  lost  sight  of  it  altogether;  his  doctrines  were  pushed 
so  far  that  they  came  to  be  slighted  as  mere  metaphysical  refinements." — The 
North  American  Review,  April,  1853. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER 

(608)  THE   CONSTITUTION  AND  THE  UNION.     The  text  is  from  the   1851 
edition.    The  speech  was  delivered  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  March  7, 
1850;  for  the  circumstances,  see  the  note  on  Mr.  Calhoun's  speech,  page  709. 

(609)  "Hear  me  for  my  cause":    the  words  of  Brutus  to  the  people,  at  the 
beginning  of  his  speech  justifying  his  killing  of  Caesar,  in  Julius  Caesar,  Act  III, 
scene  ii,  1.  14. 

(613)  "Kindly  affectioned":  Rom.  12:10.  H  "Seek  another's,"  etc.:  I  Cor. 
10:24.  If  "&'  the  oppressed  go  free":  Isa.  58:6. 

(615)  "do  evil  that  good  may  come":    Rom.  3:8. 

(623)  member  from  South  Carolina:  Mr.  Calhoun.  ^  fitly  joined  together: 
Ephes.  4:6. 

(626)  reclus  in  curia:   "right  in  the  senate." 

(627)  to  the  Greek  Kalends:    i.e.,  forever;    there  were  no  Greek  Kalends, 
Kalends  being  a  Roman  measure  of  time,    ^flagrante  bello:   "war  raging." 

(628)  Free  Soil  party:   organized  in  1848,  to  oppose  the  extension  of  slavery. 
(630)  to  their  farms  or  to  their  merchandise:   cf.  Matt.  22:5,  "one  to  his  farm, 

another  to  his  merchandise." 

(632)  slavery  cannot  exist  in  .  .  .  .  New  Mexico:  yet  the  territorial  legislature 
established  slavery,  as  did  also  that  of  Utah. 

(633)  tortillas:   unleavened  cakes. 

(636)  a  bill  ....  which  ....  7  propose  to  support :  he  himself  presented 
the  bill,  June  3,  1850;  it  improved  the  legal  machinery  for  the  recovery  of  fugitive 
slaves. 

(640)  licentiousness  =  license,  unrestraint. 

(644)  arrondissement— political  division.    If  Yellow  Stone:   a  tributary  of  the 
Missouri,  flowing  through  Wyoming,  Montana,  and  North  Dakota.    ^  Plalle:  also 
a  tributary  of  the  Missouri,  flowing  through  Colorado,  Wyoming,  and  Nebraska. 

(645)  treaty  of  Amiens:   by  this  treaty,  in  1802,  between  England,  France, 
and  Spain,  England  gave  up  nearly  all  her  recent  conquests.    If  King  William: 
William  of  Orange,  king  of  England,  1689-1702,  a  great  opponent  of  France. 

(647)  "Now,  the  broad  shield,"  etc.:  from  Pope's  translation  of  the  Iliad 
xviii.  701-4,  with  change  of  "Thus"  to  "Now." 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"  Webster  would  do  credit  to  any  public  assembly  in  the  world." — The  Edin- 
burgh Review,  June,  1829. 

"If  they  [Webster's  speeches]  were  ascribed  to  some  hitherto  unknown  author, 
— to  some  one  of  the  forgotten  great  men,  who  moulded  the  destinies  and  led  the 
councils  of  Carthage,  Tyre,  or  any  other  of  the  famous  states  of  antiquity,  .... 
who  does  not  perceive  that  we  should  feel,  by  universal  consent,  that  we  were  put 


712  AMERICAN  PROSE 


in  possession  of  the  long-lost  productions  of  a  mind,  worthy  to  be  classed  with  the 
strongest  and  richest  of  those,  which  have  inherited  the  admiration  of  ages?" — 
Edward  Everett,  in  The  North  American  Review,  July,  1835. 

"These  [Milton  and  Dryden],  with  Shakspeare,  form  the  bulk  of  Mr. Webster's 
poetical  reading;  and  we  are  by  no  means  sure  that  it  is  useful  for  an  orator  to  be 
familiar  with  any  poet  but  those  which  are  in  the  mouths  and  memories  of  the 
people;  for  what  avail  allusions  which  it  requires  notes  or  an  appendix  to  explain  ? 
It  is  obvious,  however,  that  he  has  made  a  careful  study  of  the  best  English  Orators, 

particularly  Burke Mr.  Webster's  taste  is  not  uniformly  refined,  and  he 

is  by  no  means  nice  in  his  choice  of  language:  but  then  his  style  is  not  of  the  feeble 
order  which  depends  upon  the  collocation  of  an  epithet;  it  is  of  granite  strength 
and  texture;  and,  if  the  asperities  were  polished  off,  would  still  present  the  solidity 
of  the  rock." — The  Quarterly  Review,  December,  1840. 

"His  speeches  are  models  of  argumentative  power  and  commanding  eloquence, 
and  they  will  be  studied  in  future  centuries  with  an  interest  not  inferior  to  that 
with  which  the  scholar  of  the  present  day  contemplates  the  precious  remains  of 
Greek  and  Roman  debate." — The  North  American  Review,  October,  1843. 

"The  speech  [the  reply  to  Hayne]  ....  will  ever  be  interesting,  from  the 
profound  knowledge  it  displays,  its  clear  arrangement,  the  mastery  it  exhibits  of 
all  the  weapons  of  dialectics,  the  broad  stamp  of  nationality  it  bears,  and  the  wit, 
sarcasm,  and  splendid  and  impassioned  eloquence,  which  pervade  and  vivify, 

without  interrupting,  the  close  and  rapid  march  of  the  argument The 

style  of  Mr.  Webster  has  great  merit,  not  only  for  its  vigor,  clearness,  and  com- 
pression, but  for  the  broad  impress  which  it  bears  of  the  writer's  nature.  It  owes 
nothing  to  the  usual  tricks  of  rhetoric,  but  seems  the  unforced  utterance  of  his 
intellect,  and  is  eminently  Webslerian.  There  is  a  granite-like  strength  in  its 
construction.  It  varies,  from  the  simple  force  and  directness  of  logical  statement, 
to  a  fierce,  trampling  energy  of  manner,  with  each  variation  of  his  mind  from  calm- 
ness to  excitement."— E.  P.  Whipple,  in  The  North  American  Review,  July,  1844. 

"On  the  whole,  Mr.  Webster's  eloquence  is  more  remarkable  for  fervor  of 
sentiment  and  depth  of  feeling,  than  for  richness  of  imagery  or  imaginative  power. 
No  one  has  a  greater  contempt  for  the  barren  shows  of  oratorical  and  poetic  phrase- 
ology, or  for  the  mere  illusions  of  fancy.  If  the  imagination  is  ever  allowed  to  take 
wing,  ....  it  is  but  a  momentary  flight  of  the  poetic  feeling  which  pervades  all 
true  eloquence,  and  the  firm  tramp  of  the  argument  is  resumed  as  steadily  as  if  it 
had  not  quitted  the  earth  for  an  instant.  Generally,  every  thing  is  sacrificed  to 
'clearness,  force,  and  earnestness.'" — The  North  American  Review,  July,  1852. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

(647)  ADDRESS  AT  COOPER  INSTITUTE.  The  address  was  delivered  in  New 
York,  February  27, 1860,  before  a  large  audience,  eager  to  hear  the  Western  lawyer 
who  had  debated  so  ably  with  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  two  years  before;  William  Cullen 
Bryant  presided,  and  other  distinguished  men  were  on  the  platform.  Mr.  Lincoln 
spoke  as  a  representative  of  the  Republican  party,  which  had  been  organized  in 
1854,  and  presented  an  argument  in  support  of  the  central  principle  of  the  party, 


NOTES  713 


that  the  national  government  had  the  constitutional  right  to  keep  slavery  out  of 
the  territories  and  should  do  so. 

(658)  John  Brown:  he  had  been  prominent  in  the  Kansas  struggle  over 
slavery,  and,  when  he  removed  to  Virginia,  formed  a  purpose  to  liberate  the  slaves 
by  rousing  them  to  revolt;  he  and  a  few  others  seized  the  arsenal  at  Harper's 
Ferry,  on  October  16,  1859;  but  the  slaves  did  not  rise,  and  Brown  was  taken, 
tried,  and  hanged  for  treason  on  December  2. 

(660)  slave  revolution  in  Hayti:    a  bloody  revolution  of  the  slaves  in  Hayti, 
the  second  largest  island  in  the  West  Indies,  occurred  in  1791-93,  under  the  leader- 
ship of  Toussaint  1'Ouverture,  and  resulted  in  the  setting  up  of  a  black  republic. 
If  The  gunpowder  plot:    the  plot  of  Guy  Fawkes  and  his  conspirators  to  blow  up 
Parliament,  on  November  5,  1605.    1  pari  passu:   "with  equal  pace,"  at  the  same 
rate. 

(661)  Orsini's  attempt  on  Louis  Napoleon:    Felice  Orsini,  an  Italian  revolu- 
tionist, attempted  to  assassinate  the  French  emperor  in  1858  by  exploding  a  bomb; 
he  was  caught  and  executed.    1  Helper's  Book:    a  book  by  a  Mr.  Helper,  urging 
extreme  anti-slavery  measures;   many  Southerners  thought  that  it  represented  the 
attitude  of  the  Republican  party,  although  the  Republican  leaders  repudiated  it. 

(662)  the  Supreme  Court  has  decided:  in  the  famous  Dred  Scott  case,  in  1857; 
the  court  ruled  that  the  owner  of  Dred  Scott,  a  Missouri  slave,  had  not  forfeited 
his  title  to  him  by  taking  him  into  free  territory.    If  distinction  between  dictum  and 

decision:   "Dictum In  law,  an  opinion  of  a  judge  which  does  not  embody 

the  resolution  or  determination  of  the  court,  and  is  made  without  argument,  or  full 
consideration  of  the  point,  and  is  not  the  professed  deliberate  determination  of 
the  judge  himself." — The  Century  Dictionary,  quoting  Chief  Justice  Folger. 

(666)  ADDRESS  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  GETTYSBURG  NATIONAL  CEMETERY. 
The  battle  at  Gettysburg,  Pennsylvania,  was  fought  on  July  1-3;  it  resulted  in  a 
victory  for  the  North,  and  proved  to  be  the  turning  of  the  tide  against  the  Con- 
federate cause.    Some  70,000  or  80,000  men  were  engaged  on  each  side;  the  Union 
dead  numbered  2,834.    On  November  19,  1863,  a  cemetery  on  a  part  of  the  battle- 
field was  dedicated,  and  on  this  occasion  President  Lincoln  gave  the  address  printed 
in  the  text;  the  chief  oration  was  by  Edward  Everett. 

(667)  SECOND  INAUGURAL  ADDRESS.   Delivered  at  Washington,  March  4, 1865. 

(668)  let  us  judge  not,  that  we  be  not  judged:   cf.  Matt.  7:1.    If  "Woe  unto  the 
world,"  etc.:  Matt.  18:7.    If  " The  judgments  of  the  Lord,"  etc.:   Ps.  19:9. 

CONTEMPORARY  CRITICISM 

"  Since  the  days  of  Clay  and  Webster  no  man  has  spoken  to  a  larger  assemblage 

of  the  intellect  and  mental  culture  of  our  city Mr.  Lincoln  is  one  of  nature's 

orators,  using  his  rare  powers  solely  to  elucidate  and  convince,  though  their  inevit- 
able effect  is  to  delight  and  electrify  as  well.  We  present  herewith  a  very  full  and 
accurate  report  of  this  speech  [the  address  at  Cooper  Institute];  yet  the  tones,  the 
gestures,  the  kindling  eye,  and  the  mirth-provoking  look  defy  the  reporter's  skill. 
The  vast  assemblage  frequently  rang  with  cheers  and  shouts  of  applause,  which 
were  prolonged  and  intensified  at  the  close.  No  man  ever  before  made  such  an 


714  AMERICAN  PROSE 


impression  on  his  first  appeal  to  a  New  York  audience." — The  New  York  Tribune, 
February  28,  1860. 

"From  the  first  line  to  the  last,  from  his  premises  to  his  conclusion,  he  travels 
with  a  swift,  unerring  directness  which  no  logician  ever  excelled,  an  argument 
complete  and  full,  without  the  affectation  of  learning,  and  without  the  stiffness 
which  usually  accompanies  dates  and  details.  A  single,  easy,  simple  sentence  of 
plain  Anglo-Saxon  words,  contains  a  chapter  of  history  that,  in  some  instances,  has 
taken  days  of  labor  to  verify,  and  which  must  have  cost  the  author  months  of 
investigation  to  acquire." — Preface  by  C.  C.  Nott  and  Cephas  Brainerd,  to  a  pam- 
phlet edition  of  the  Cooper  Institute  address,  September,  1860. 

"There  are  one  or  two  phrases  here  [in  the  Gettysburg  address],  such  as  'dedi- 
cated to  the  proposition,'  which  betray  a  hand  untrained  in  fine  writing,  and  are 
proofs  that  the  composition  is  Lincoln's  own.  But,  looking  to  the  substance,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  any  king  in  Europe  would  have  expressed  himself  more 
royally  than  the  peasant's  son.  And,  even  as  to  the  form,  we  cannot  help  remarking 
that  simplicity  of  structure  and  pregnancy  of  meaning  are  the  true  characteristics 

of  the  classical  style To  do  him  justice,  you  must  read  his  political  writings 

and  speeches,  looking  to  the  substance  and  not  to  the  style,  which,  in  the  speeches 
especially,  is  often  very  uncultivated,  though  it  never  falls  into  the  worse  faults  of 
inflation  and  rhotomontade  so  common  in  American  State-papers." — Goldwin 
Smith,  in  Macmillan's  Magazine,  as  reprinted  in  Littell's  Living  Age,  March  4, 1865. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

GENERAL  WORKS 


General. — Narrative  and  Critical  History  of  America,  ed.  by  Justin  Winsor, 
8  vols.  (Houghton,  1884-89) .  A  History  of  the  American  People  (from  the  beginning 
to  1900),  by  Woodrow  Wilson,  5  vols.  (Harper,  1902).  History  of  the  United  States 
of  America  (1783-1865),  by  James  Schouler,  6  vols.  (Dodd,  1880-99).  A  History  of 
the  People  of  the  United  States  (1783-1861),  by  J.  B.  McMaster,  8  vols.  (Appleton, 
1883-1913).  A  History  of  the  United  States,  by  Edward  Charming,  3  vols.  out 
(1000-1789)  (Macmillan,  1905-12).  History  of  the  United  States  (986-1905),  by 
T.  W.  Higginson  and  William  MacDonald  (Harper,  1905).  A  Short  History  of 
the  American  People:  Vol.  i,  The  Foundations  of  American  Nationality  (1492— 
1789),  by  E.  B.  Greene;  Vol.  2,  The  Development  of  American  Nationality  (1789- 
1912),  by  C.  R.  Fish  (American  Book  Co.;  Vol.  i  in  preparation;  Vol.  2,  1913). 
A  Students'  History,  of  the  United  States,  by  Edward  Channing  (Macmillan,  1898). 
American  History  Told  by  Contemporaries  (1492-1900),  ed.  by  A.  B.  Hart,  4  vols. 
(Macmillan,  1897-1901).  Documents  Illustrative  of  American  History,  1606- 
1863,  ed.  by  H.  W.  Preston  (Putnam,  1886).  Dictionary  of  United  States  History, 
1492-1894,  by  J.  F.  Jameson  (Puritan  Publishing  Co.,  1894). 

Special  Periods. — The  American  Colonies  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,  by 
H.  L.  Osgood  (Macmillan,  1904).  English  Colonies  in  America,  by  J.  A.  Doyle,  3 
vols.  (Holt,  1882-89).  The  Discovery  of  America,  by  John  Fiske,  2  vols.  (Houghton, 
1892).  Old  Virginia  and  Her  Neighbours,  by  John  Fiske,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1897). 
The  Beginnings  of  New  England,  by  John  Fiske  (Houghton,  1899).  The  Dutch 
and  Quaker  Colonies  in  America,  by  John  Fiske,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1900).  The 
American  Revolution,  by  John  Fiske,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1891).  The  Critical 
Period  of  American  History  (1783-89),  by  John  Fiske  (Houghton,  1888).  A  Half 
Century  of  Conflict  (1700-48),  by  Francis  Parkman,  2  vols.  (Little,  1892).  Mont- 
calm  and  Wolfe,  by  Francis  Parkman  (Little,  1884).  History  of  the  United  States 
(1850-77),  by  J.  F.  Rhodes,  7  vols.  (Harper,  1892-1906).  The  History  of  the  Last 
Quarter-Century  in  the  United  States,  by  E.  B.  Andrews,  2  vols.  (Scribner,  1896). 

SOCIAL  CONDITIONS 

Colonial  and  Revolutionary  Times. — The  American  People,  a  Study  in  National 
Psychology,  by  A.  M.  Low,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1909,  1911).  Men,  Women,  and 
Manners  in  Colonial  Times,  by  S.  G.  Fisher,  2  vols.  (Lippincott,  1897).  Costumes 
of  Colonial  Times,  by  A.  M.  Earle  (Scribner,  1894).  Colonial  Dames  and  Good 
Wives,  by  A.  M.  Earle  (Houghton,  1895).  English  Culture  in  Virginia,  in  Johns 
Hopkins  University  Studies  in  Historical  and  Political  Science,  Seventh  Series 
717 


718  AMERICAN  PROSE 


(Baltimore,  1899).  Economic  and  Social  History  of  New  England,  1620-1789,  by 
W.  B.  Weeden,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1800).  New  England  Two  Centuries  Ago, 
by  J.  R.  Lowell,  in  Literary  Essays,  Vol.  2  (Houghton,  1800;  this  essay,  1865). 
Customs  and  Fashions  in  Old  New  England,  by  A.  M.  Earle  (Scribner,  1894).  The 
Sabbath  in  Puritan  New  England,  by  A.  M.  Earle  (Scribner,  1891).  The  Witch- 
craft Delusion  in  Colonial  Connecticut  (1647-97),  by  J.  M.  Taylor  (Grafton  Press, 
1908).  Witchcraft,  by  J.  R.  Lowell,  in  Literary  Essays,  Vol.  2  (Houghton,  1800; 
this  essay,  1868).  Were  the  Salem  Witches  Guiltless,  and  Some  Neglected  Char- 
acteristics of  the  New  England  Puritans,  by  Barrett  Wendell,  in  Stelligeri  (Scribner, 
1893).  Colonial  Days  in  Old  New  York,  by  A.  M.  Earle  (Scribner,  1896).  Papers 
on  Historic  New  York,  in  the  Half  Moon  Series  (Putnam,  1897-98). — For  novels 
relating  to  this  period  see  American  Poems,  ed.  by  W.  C.  Bronson,  p.  638  (Univer- 
sity of  Chicago  Press,  1912). 

Nineteenth  Century. — The  American  Mind,  by  Bliss  Perry  (Houghton,  1912). 
The  American  People,  a  Study  in  National  Psychology,  by  A.  M.  Low,  Vol.  2 
(Houghton,  1911).  American  Ideals,  Characters,  and  Life,  by  H.  W.  Mabie  (Mac- 
millan,  1913).  The  American  Scene,  by  Henry  James,  Jr.  (Harper,  1907).  A 
Century  of  Social  Betterment,  by  J.  B.  McMaster,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  January, 
1897.  Cambridge  Thirty  Years  Ago,  by  J.  R.  Lowell,  in  Literary  Essays,  Vol.  i 
(Houghton,  1800;  this  essay,  1854).  Old  Cambridge,  by  T.  W.  Higginson  (Mac- 
millan,  1899).  A  History  of  the  Unitarians  in  the  United  States,  by  J.  H.  Allen,  in 
American  Church  History  Series,  Vol.  10  (Christian  Literature  Co.,  1894).  Uni- 
tarianism  in  America,  by  G.  W.  Cooke  (American  Unitarian  Association,  1902). 
Transcendentalism  in  New  England,  by  O.  B.  Frothingham  (Putnam,  1876).  The 
Transcendentalist,  by  R.  W.  Emerson,  in  Works,  Centenary  Edition,  Vol.  i  (Hough- 
ton,  1903;  this  lecture  read  in  1842).  Historic  Notes  of  Life  and  Letters  in  New 
England,  by  R.  W.  Emerson,  in  Works,  Centenary  Edition,  Vol.  10  (Houghton, 
1004;  this  essay  written  about  1867,  first  published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly, 
October,  1883).  New  England  Reformers,  by  R.  W.  Emerson,  in  Essays,  Second 
Series  (Houghton;  this  lecture  read  in  1844).  The  Sunny  Side  of  Transcendentalism 
by  T.  W.  Higginson,  in  Part  of  a  Man's  Life  (Houghton,  1905;  this  essay,  in  the 
Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1904).  Reminiscences  of  Brook  Farm,  by  G.  P.  Brad- 
ford, in  the  Century  Magazine,  November,  1892.  Brook  Farm,  by  Lindsay  Swift 
(Macmillan,  1000).  The  Old  South,  Essays  Social  and  Political,  by  T.  N.  Page 
(Scribner,  1892).  The  Peculiarities  of  the  South,  by  N.  S.  Shaler,  in  the  North 
American  Review,  October  1890. 

HISTORY   OF   LITERATURE 

General. — American  Literature,  1607-1885,  by  C.  F.  Richardson,  2  vols. 
(Putnam,  1887,  1889;  popular  edition,  2  vols.  in  i).  A  Literary  History  of  America 
(1600-1900),  by  Barrett  Wendell  (Scribner,  1900).  American  Literature,  an  His- 
torical Sketch,  1620-1880,  by  John  Nichol  (Black,  1882).  Geschichte  der  norda- 
merikanischen  Litteratur,  von  Karl  Knortz,  2  vols.  (Berlin,  1891).  Geschichte  der 
nordamerikanischen  Litteratur,  von  Eduard  Engel  (Leipzig,  1897).  A  History  of 
American  Literature,  1607-1865,  by  W.  P.  Trent  (Appleton,  1003).  America  in 
Literature,  by  G.  E.  Woodberry  (Harper,  1903).  A  Short  History  of  American 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  719 


Literature,  by  W.  C.  Bronson  (Heath,  1900).  Great  American  Writers,  by  W.  P. 
Trent  and  John  Erskine  (Holt,  1912).  Literary  Leaders  of  America,  by  Richard 
Burton  (Scribner,  1903). 

Special  Periods,  Sections,  and  Classes  of  Writers. — A  History  of  American 
Literature,  1607-1765,  by  M.  C.  Tyler,  2  vols.  (Putnam,  1878;  student's  edition, 
2  vols.  in  i).  The  Literary  History  of  the  American  Revolution,  1763-83,  by  M.  C. 
Tyler,  2  vols.  (Putnam,  1897;  student's  edition,  2  vols.  in  i).  American  Writers, 
in  Blackwood's  Magazine,  September,  1824.  A  Half-Century  of  American  Litera- 
ture (1857-1907),  by  T.  W.  Higginson,  in  Carlyle's  Laugh  and  Other  Surprises 
(Houghton,  1909;  this  essay,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  November,  1907).  American 
Writers  of  To-Day,  by  H.  C.  Vedder  (Silver,  1894).  A  History  of  American 
Literature  since  1870  (really  from  1865  to  1900),  by  F.L.Pattee  (Century  Co.,  1915). 
Writers  of  Knickerbocker  New  York,  by  H.  W.  Mabie  (Grolier  Club,  1912).  A 
History  of  Southern  Literature,  by  Carl  Holliday  (Neale  Publishing  Co.,  1906). 
Literary  Emancipation  of  the  West,  by  Hamlin  Garland,  in  the  Forum,  October, 
1893.  The  Hoosiers,  by  Meredith  Nicholson  (Macmillan,  1900).  The  Literary 
Development  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  by  Herbert  Bashford,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly, 
July,  1903.  The  Early  American  Novel,  by  L.  D.  Loshe  (Lemcke,  1907).  American 
Novels,  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  January,  1883.  American  Fiction,  in  the  Edin- 
burgh Review,  January,  1891.  The  American  Historical  Novel,  by  P.  L.  Ford,  in 
the  Atlantic  Monthly,  December,  1897.  Leading  American  Essayists,  by  W.  M. 
Payne  (Holt,  1910).  American  Orators  and  Statesmen,  in  the  Quarterly  Review, 
December,  1840.  American  Prose  Masters,  by  W.  C.  Brownell  (Scribner,  1909). 

Special  Topics. — Americanism  in  Literature,  by  T.  W.  Higginson,  in  Atlantic 
Essays  (Osgood,  1874;  this  essay,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1870).  The 
Spirit  of  American  Literature,  by  J.  A.  Macy  (Doubleday,  1913).  American 
Humour,  by  Andrew  Lang,  in  Lost  Leaders  (Paul,  1892).  Yankee  Humour,  in  the 
Quarterly  Review,  January,  1867.  The  Clergy  in  American  Life  and  Letters,  by 
D.  D.  Addison  (Macmillan,  1900).  Cosmopolitan  Tendencies  in  American  Litera- 
ture, by  W.  C.  Lawton,  in  the  Sewanee  Review,  April,  1906.  Dialect  in  Literature, 
by  J.  W.  Riley,  in  the  Forum,  December,  1892.  The  Influence  of  Democracy  on 
Literature,  by  Edmund  Gosse,  in  Questions  at  Issue  (Heinemann,  1893;  Appleton). 
Nature  in  Early  American  Literature,  by  S.  L.  Whitcomb,  in  the  Sewanee  Review, 
Vol.  2, 1893-94.  The  Development  of  the  Love  of  Romantic  Scenery  in  America,  by 
M.  E.  Woolley,  in  the  American  Historical  Review,  October,  1897.  The  National 
Element  in  Southern  Literature,  by  J.  B.  Henneman,  in  the  Sewanee  Review, 
July,  1903.  The  Reconstruction  of  Southern  Literary  Thought,  by  H.  N.  Snyder, 
in  the  South  Atlantic  Quarterly,  April,  1902.  Some  Phases  of  the  Supernatural  in 
American  Literature,  by  A.  H.  Quinn,  in  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language 
Association,  March,  1910  (Baltimore). 

Biography. — A  Critical  Dictionary  of  English  Literature  and  British  and 
American  Authors,  by  S.  A.  Allibone,  4  vols.  (Lippincott,  1858-71);  Supplement, 
by  J.  F.  Kirk,  2  vols.  (Lippincott,  1891).  Appleton's  Cyclopaedia  of  American 
Biography,  ed.  by  J.  G.  Wilson  and  John  Fiske,  6  vols.  (Appleton,  1886-89).  A 
Dictionary  of  American  Authors,  by  O.  F.  Adams  (Houghton,  1897;  enlarged 
edition,  1905).— American  Bookmen,  by  M.  A.  DeWolfe  Howe  (Dodd,  1898). 


720  AMERICAN  PROSE 


American  Lands  and  Letters,  by  D.  G.  Mitchell,  2  vols.  (Scribner,  1897,  1899). 
Authors  and  Friends,  by  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields  (Houghton,  1896).  Authors  at  Home,  ed. 
by  J.  L.  and  J.  B.  Gilder  (Cassell,  1888;  reprinted  from  the  Critic).  Biographical 
Notes  and  Personal  Sketches,  by  J.  T.  Fields  (Houghton,  1881).  Chapters  from  a 
Life,  by  Elizabeth  S.  Phelps  (Houghton,  1896).  Cheerful  Yesterdays,  by  T.  W. 
Higginson  (Houghton,  1898).  Homes  of  American  Authors,  by  G.  W.  Curtis  and 
others  (Putnam,  1852).  Little  Journeys  to  the  Homes  of  American  Authors,  by 
Curtis,  Hillard,  Bryant,  and  others  (Putnam,  1896).  Personal  Recollections  of 
Notable  People,  by  C.  K.  Tuckerman,  2  vols.  (Dodd,  1895).  Recollections  of  a 
Literary  Life,  by  Mary  R.  Mitford,  3  vols.  (London,  1852).  Reminiscences,  by 
Julia  W.  Howe  (Houghton,  1899). 

Bibliography. — American  Authors  (1795-1895),  a  Bibliography  of  First  and 
Notable  Editions  Chronologically  Arranged,  with  Notes,  by  P.  K.  Foley  (Pub- 
lishers' Printing  Co.,  1 897) .  Bibh'otheca  Americana,  a  Dictionary  of  Books  Relating 
to  America,  by  Joseph  Sabin,  19  vols.  (A  to  Simms)  (Sabin,  1868-91).  A  Catalogue 
of  Books  Relating  to  North  and  South  America  in  the  Library  of  John  Carter  Brown 
of  Providence,  R.I.,  with  Notes,  by  J.  R.  Bartlett,  6  vols.  (Providence,  1865-82). 
Chronological  Outlines  of  American  Literature,  by  S.  L.  Whitcomb  (Macmillan, 
1894). 

COLLECTIONS   OF   WRITINGS 

A  Library  of  American  Literature  (1607-1890),  ed.  by  E.  C.  Stedman  and 
E.  M.  Hutchinson,  n  vols.  (Webster,  1887-90;  Benjamin).  Cyclopaedia  of  Amer- 
ican Literature  (1607-1855),  by  E.  A.  and  G.  L.  Duyckinck,  2  vols.  (Scribner,  1855; 
enlarged  edition,  1875).  Library  of  Southern  Literature,  ed.  by  E.  A.  Alderman 
and  others,  16  vols.  (Martin,  1908-1916).  The  Oxford  Book  of  American  Essays 
(Franklin  to  W.  P.  Trent),  selected  by  Brander  Matthews  (Oxford  University  Press, 
1914).  Representative  American  Orations  (1775-1881),  ed.  by  Alexander  Johnston, 
3  vols.  (Putnam,  1884;  re-ed.  by  J.  A.  Woodburn,  4  vols.,  1896-97;  orations  often 
abridged).  Orations  of  American  Orators  (1776-1898),  2  vols.  (Co-Operative  Pub- 
lication Society,  revised  edition,  1900).  American  Public  Addresses,  ed.  by  J.  V. 
Denny  (1775-1896)  (Scott,  Foresman,  1910).  Modern  American  Speeches  (Schurz, 
Grady,  Hay,  Root),  ed.  by  L.  W.  Boardman  (Longmans,  1913). 

ETHAN  ALLEN 

EDITION.  A  Narrative  of  Col.  Ethan  Allen's  Captivity  (Philadelphia,  1779). 
BIOGRAPHY.  C.  W.  Brown:  Ethan  Allen  (Donohue,  1902). 

WILLIAM  BRADFORD 

EDITIONS.  Of  Plimoth  Plantation,  from  the  Original  Manuscript  (State 
Printers,  Boston,  Mass.,  1898;  also  in  Collections  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society,  Fourth  Series,  Vol.  3).  History  of  Plymouth  Plantation,  ed.  by  W.  T. 
Davis  (Scribner,  1908);  ed.  by  W.  C.  Ford,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1912). 

WILLIAM  BYRD 

EDITION.  The  Writings  of  Colonel  William  Byrd,  ed.  by  J.  S.  Bassett  (Double- 
day,  1001). 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  721 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN 

EDITION.  Works,  ed.  by  R.  K.  Crall6,  6  vols.  (Appleton,  1851-56;  reprint, 
1888). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  W.  E.  Dodd:  Statesmen  of  the  Old  South 
(Macmillan,  1911).  H.  C.  Lodge:  Democracy  of  the  Constitution,  and  Other 
Addresses  and  Essays  (Scribner,  1915).  W.  P.  Trent:  Southern  Statesmen  of  the 
Old  Regime  (Crowell,  1897).  H.  von  Hoist:  life  in  American  Statesmen  Series 
(Houghton,  1883).  Daniel  Webster:  Tribute  to  Mr.  Calhoun,  in  the  Senate, 
April  i,  1850,  in  Works,  Vol.  10  (Little,  1903). 

JOHN  COTTON 

EDITION.  The  Bloudy  Tenent  Washed  and  made  white  in  the  bloud  of  the 
Lambe  (London,  1647). 

BIOGRAPHY.  A.  W.  MacClure:   The  Life  of  John  Cotton  (Boston,  1870). 

J.  HECTOR  ST.  JOHN  CREVECCEUR 

EDITIONS.  Letters  from  an  American  Farmer  (London,  1782);  reprint,  ed.  by 
Ludwig  Lewisohn  (Fox,  1904);  ed.  by  W.  B.  Blake  (Dutton,  1913;  Everyman's 
Library). 

JOHN  DICKINSON 

EDITIONS.  Letters  from  a  Farmer  in  Pennsylvania  to  the  Inhabitants  of  the 
British  Colonies  (Philadelphia,  1768).  Political  Writings,  2  vols.  (Wilmington, 
1801). 

BIOGRAPHY.  C.  J.  Stille:  The  Life  and  Times  of  John  Dickinson  (Lippincott, 
1891). 

JONATHAN   EDWARDS 

EDITIONS.  Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  God  (Boston,  1741).  A  careful 
and  strict  Enquiry  into  the  modern  prevailing  Notions  of  that  Freedom  of  Will 
which  is  supposed  to  be  essential  to  Moral  Agency,  Vertue  and  Vice  (Boston,  1754). 
Works,  4  vols.  (New  York,  1844).  Selected  Sermons,  ed.  by  H.  N.  Gardiner 
(Macmillan,  1904). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  A.  V.  G.  Allen:  life  in  American  Religious 
Leaders  Series  (Houghton,  1889).  Isaac  Crook:  Jonathan  Edwards  (Methodist 
Book  Concern,  1903).  O.  W.  Holmes:  Pages  from  an  Odd  Volume  of  Life  (Hough- 
ton,  1883).  A.L.Jones:  Early  American  Philosophers  (Macmillan,  1898).  Andrew 
Macphail:  Essays  in  Puritanism  (Houghton,  1905).  L.  P.  Powell:  Heavenly 
Heretics  (Putnam,  1909).  Samuel  Simpson:  Jonathan  Edwards,  a  Historical 
Review,  in  Hartford  Seminary  Record,  Vol.  14,  No.  i  (Hartford,  1903).  Leslie 
Stephen:  Hours  in  a  Library,  Vol.  i  (Harper,  1894). 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

EDITIONS.  Works,  Centenary  Edition,  ed.  by  E.  W.  Emerson,  12  vols.  (Hough- 
ton,  1003-4);  Little  Classic  Edition,  12  vols.  (Houghton,  1883-94).  Journals 
(1820-76),  ed.  by  E.  W.  Emerson  and  W.  E.  Forbes,  10  vols.  (Houghton,  1909-14). 


722  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Correspondence  of  Carlyle  and  Emerson,  2  vols.  (Osgood,  1883;  enlarged  edition, 
Ticknor,  1888;  Houghton).  Correspondence  of  John  Sterling  and  Emerson,  ed.  by 
E.  W.  Emerson  (Houghton,  1897;  first  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  July,  1897).  Letters 
of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  to  a  Friend,  ed.  by  C.  E.  Norton  (Houghton,  1809). 
Correspondence  between  Emerson  and  Hermann  Grimm,  ed.  by  F.  W.  Holls 
(Houghton,  1903;  first  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  April,  1903).  Records  of  a  Lifelong 
Friendship  (letters  between  Emerson  and  W.  H.  Furness)  (Houghton,  1910). 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  with  Two  Early  Essays  of  Emerson's,  by  E.  E.  Hale  (Lam- 
son,  1896;  American  Unitarian  Association,  1003).  Uncollected  Writings:  Essays, 
Addresses,  Poems,  Reviews,  and  Letters,  Now  First  Published  in  Book  Form 
(Lamb  Publishing  Co.,  1912).  Essays,  First  and  Second  Series;  Conduct  of  Life, 
Nature,  and  Essays  from  the  Dial;  English  Traits,  and  Representative  Men; 
Society  and  Solitude  and  other  Essays  (Button,  1907-12;  Everyman's  Library). 

BIOGRAPHY.  J.  E.  Cabot:  A  Memoir,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1887).  E.  W. 
Emerson:  Emerson  in  Concord  (Houghton,  1889).  Richard  Garnett:  life  in  Great 
Writers  Series  (Scott,  1888;  bibliography  by  J.  P.  Anderson,  British  Museum). 
O.  W.  Holmes:  life  in  American  Men  of  Letters  Series  (Houghton,  1885).  F.  B. 
Sanborn:  life  in  Beacon  Biographies  Series  (Small,  1001).  G.  E.  Woodberry:  life 
in  English  Men  of  Letters  Series  (Macmillan,  1907). — John  Albee:  Remembrances 
of  Emerson  (Cooke,  1901).  Louisa  M.  Alcott:  Reminiscences  of  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson,  in  Parton's  Some  Noted  Princes,  Authors,  and  Statesmen  of  Our  Times 
(Crowell,  1885).  Charles  and  Mary  Cowden  Clarke:  Recollections  of  Writers 
(London,  1878).  G.  W.  Curtis:  Emerson  Lecturing,  in  From  the  Easy  Chair  (Har- 
per, 1902).  T.  W.  Higginson:  Contemporaries  (Houghton,  1809).  Alexander 
Ireland:  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Personal  Recollections  of  His  Visits  to  England 
(Simpkin,  1882).  J.  R.  Lowell:  Emerson  the  Lecturer,  in  Literary  Essays,  Vol.  i 
(Houghton,  1890;  this  essay,  1861-68).  H.  C.  Robinson:  Diary,  April  22,  May  2, 
June  9,  June  27,  1848  (Kurd,  1877;  Houghton).  F.  B.  Sanborn:  Recollections  of 
Seventy  Years,  2  vols.  (Badger,  1909).  J.  B.  Thayer:  A  Western  Journey  with 
Emerson  (Little,  1884).  Walt  Whitman:  Prose  Works,  pp.  181-84,  180-90  (Small, 
1898).  N.  P.  Willis:  Littell's  Living  Age,  March  9,  1850.  C.  J.  Woodbury:  Talks 
with  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  (Paul,  1800;  Baker). 

CRITICISM.  A.  B.  Alcott:  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  an  Estimate  of  His  Char- 
acter and  Genius  (Williams,  1882;  DeWolfe).  Matthew  Arnold:  Discourses  in 
America  (Macmillan,  1885).  Atlantic  Monthly,  February,  1861.  Brother  Azarias: 
Phases  of  Thought  and  Criticism  (Houghton,  1892).  H.  A.  Beers:  Points  at  Issue 
(Macmillan,  1004).  Augustine  Birrell:  Obiter  Dicta,  Second  Series  (Scribner,  1887). 
Blackwood's  Magazine,  December,  1847.  W.  C.  Brownell:  American  Prose  Mas- 
ters (Scribner,  1009).  John  Burroughs:  Emerson  and  the  Superlative  (1882), 
Matthew  Arnold's  View  of  Emerson  (1884),  Literary  Values  and  Other  Papers 
(1002),  in  Works  (Houghton,  1904).  J.  J.  Chapman:  Emerson  and  Other  Essays 
(Scribner,  1898).  J.  H.  Choate:  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Other  Addresses  in  Eng- 
land (Century  Co.,  1910).  J.  C.  Collins:  Posthumous  Essays  (Dutton,  1912). 
Concord  School  of  Philosophy:  The  Genius  and  Character  of  Emerson  (various 
lectures,  1884)  (Osgood,  1885;  Houghton).  G.  W.  Cooke:  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
His  Life,  Writings,  and  Philosophy  (Osgood,  1881;  Houghton).  G.  W.  Curtis: 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  723 


Literary  and  Social  Essays  (Harper,  1895).  Dugard:  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  sa 
vie  et  son  ceuvre  (Paris,  1907).  C.  W.  Eliot:  Atlantic  Monthly,  June,  1903;  Four 
American  Leaders  (American  Unitarian  Association,  1906).  Karl  Federn:  Essays 
zur  amerikanischen  Litteratur  (Halle,  1899).  O.  W.  Firkins:  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
(Houghton,  1915).  Kuno  Francke:  German  Ideals  of  To-Day  (Houghton,  1907; 
this  essay,  in  the  International  Quarterly,  September-December,  1903).  J.  A. 
Froude:  Short  Studies  on  Great  Subjects,  Vol.  i  (London,  1867;  Scribner).  P.  H. 
Frye:  Literary  Reviews  and  Criticisms  (Putnam,  1908).  Richard  Garnett:  Essays 
of  an  Ex-Librarian  (Dodd,  1901).  G.  A.  Gordon:  Atlantic  Monthly,  May,  1903. 
Hermann  Grimm:  Neue  Essays  iiber  Kunst  und  Litteratur  (Berlin,  1865;  this 
essay,  1861);  Fiinfzehn  Essays,  Dritte  Folge  (Berlin,  1882);  Essays  on  Literature, 
tr.  by  Sarah  Adams  (Cupples,  1886).  R.  H.  Hutton:  Criticism  on  Contemporary 
Thought  and  Thinkers  (Macmillan,  1904).  A.  A.  Jack:  Poetry  and  Prose  (Dutton, 
1912).  Henry  James,  Sr.:  Literary  Remains  (Osgood,  1885);  Atlantic  Monthly, 
December,  1904  (lecture  written  about  1868).  Henry  James,  Jr.:  Partial  Portraits 
(Macmillan,  1888).  William  James:  Memories  and  Studies  (Longmans,  1911; 
this  address,  1903).  Maurice  Maeterlinck:  Le  tr6sor  des  humbles,  English  trans- 
lation (Dodd,  1897).  D.  L.  Maulsby:  Emerson,  His  Contribution  to  Literature 
(Tufts  College  Press,  1911).  E.  D.  Mead:  The  Influence  of  Emerson  (American 
Unitarian  Association,  1903).  P.  E.  More:  Shelburne  Essays,  First  Series  (Put- 
nam, 1904).  John  Morley:  Critical  Miscellanies,  Vol.  i  (Macmillan,  1893;  this 
essay,  1884).  Emile  Montegut:  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  July-September,  1847. 
C.E.Norton:  Nation,  May  30,  1867.  W.M.Payne:  Leading  American  Essayists 
(Holt,  1910).  Quarterly  Review,  January,  1864;  January,  1888.  H.  E.  Scudder: 
Men  and  Letters  (Houghton,  1887).  Canon  Sheehan:  Early  Essays  and  Lectures 
(Longmans,  1906;  this  essay,  1884).  Leslie  Stephen:  Studies  of  a  Biographer, 
Vol.  4  (Duckwdrth,  1902;  Putnam).  F.  H.  Underwood:  North  American  Review, 
May,  1880.  Walt  Whitman:  Prose  Works,  pp.  173,  314-17  (Small,  1898). 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.  A  Bibliography  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  by  G.  W.  Cooke 
(Houghton,  1908). 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

EDITIONS.  Writings,  ed.  by  John  Bigelow,  10  vols.  (Putnam,  1887-88);  ed.  by 
A.  H.  Smyth,  10  vols.  (Macmillan,  1905-7).  Autobiography,  the  Unmutilated  and 
Correct  Version,  ed.  by  John  Bigelow  (Putnam,  1909);  ed.  by  A.  H.  Smyth  (Amer- 
ican Book  Co.,  1907);  with  introduction  by  Woodrow  Wilson  (Century  Co.,  1901) 
with  a  Continuation  Drawn  from  His  Letters,  ed.  by  E.  E.  Hale,  Jr.  (Newson,  1912). 
Poor  Richard's  Almanac  (Caldwell,  1900;  reduced  facsimile  of  the  almanac  for 
1756  in  appendix).  Selections  from  the  Writings  of  Franklin,  ed.  by  U.  W.  Cutler 
(Crowell,  1905).  The  Wisdom  of  Benjamin  Franklin  (reflections  and  observations 
from  his  collected  papers)  (Brentano's,  1906). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  S.  G.  Fisher:  The  True  Benjamin  Franklin 
(Lippincott,  1899).  P.  L.  Ford:  The  Many-Sided  Franklin  (Century  Co.,  1899). 
J.  B.  McMaster:  life  in  American  Men  of  Letters  Series  (Houghton,  1887).  P.  E. 
More:  life  in  Riverside  Biographical  Series  (Houghton,  1900).  J.  T.  Morse:  life 
in  American  Statesmen  Series  (Houghton,  1889).  Lindsay  Swift:  life  in  Beacon 


724  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Biographies  Series  (Small,  1910). — J.  H.  Choate:  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Other 
Addresses  in  England  (Century  Co.,  1910).  E.  L.  Dudley:  Benjamin  Franklin 
(Macmillan,  1915).  C.  W.  Eliot:  Four  American  Leaders  (American  Unitarian 
Association,  1906).  E.  E.  Hale  and  E.  E.  Hale,  Jr.:  Franklin  in  France,  2  vols. 
(Roberts,  1887-88).  Frederic  Harrison:  Memories  and  Thoughts  (Macmillan, 
1906).  H.  C.  Lodge:  A  Frontier  Town  and  Other  Essays  (Scribner,  1906).  William 
MacDonald:  Atlantic  Monthly,  October,  1905.  P.  E.  More:  Shelburne  Essays, 
Fourth  Series  (Putnam,  1906).  C.-A.  Sainte-Beuve:  Causeries  du  Lundi,  tome 
septieme  (Paris);  English  Portraits  (Holt,  1875). 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.    Franklin  Bibliography,  by  P.  L.  Ford  (Brooklyn,  1889). 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 

EDITIONS.  Works,  ed.  by  H.  C.  Lodge,  12  vols.  (Putnam,  1885-86,  1904). 
The  Federalist,  ed.  by  P.  L.  Ford  (Holt,  1898);  ed.  by  H.  C.  Lodge  (Putnam, 
1888);  ed.  by  J.  C.  Hamilton  (Lippincott,  1904);  in  Everyman's  Library  (Dutton, 
ign). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  J.  H.  Choate:  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Other 
Addresses  in  England  (Century  Co.,  1910).  C.  A.  Conant:  life  in  Riverside  Bio- 
graphical Series  (Houghton,  1901).  W.  S.  Culbertson:  Alexander  Hamilton,  an 
Essay  (Yale  University  Press,  1911).  A.  M.  Hamilton:  The  Intimate  Life  of 
Alexander  Hamilton  (Scribner,  1910).  Frederic  Harrison:  Memories  and  Thoughts 
(Macmillan,  1906).  H.  C.  Lodge:  life  in  American  Statesmen  Series  (Houghton, 
1883).  James  Schouler:  life  in  Beacon  Biographies  Series  (Small).  W.  G.  Sumner: 
life  in  Makers  of  America  Series  (Dodd,  1890). 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

EDITIONS.  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  with  bibliographical  notes  by  G.  P. 
Lathrop,  13  vols.  (Houghton);  New  Wayside  Edition,  13  vols.  (Houghton);  Gray- 
lock  Edition,  introduction  by  Mary  A.  Lathrop,  notes  by  H.  E.  Scudder,  22  vols. 
(Houghton).  Hawthorne's  First  Diary,  with  an  Account  of  Its  Discovery  and 
Loss,  by  S.  T.  Pickard  (Houghton,  1897).  Letters  of  Hawthorne  to  W.  D.  Ticknor, 
1851-64  (Carteret  Book  Club,  1910). 

BIOGRAPHY.  M.  D.  Conway:  life  in  Great  Writers  Series  (Scott,  1891;  bibli- 
ography by  J.  P.  Anderson,  British  Museum).  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields:  life  in  Beacon 
Biographies  Series  (Small,  1899).  Julian  Hawthorne:  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and 
His  Wife,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1884).  Henry  James:  life  in  English  Men  of  Letters 
Series  (Harper,  1880).  G.  E.  Woodberry:  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  (Houghton, 
1002). — Horatio  Bridge:  Personal  Recollections  of  Hawthorne  (Harper,  1893). 
H.  A.  Clarke:  Hawthorne's  Country  (Baker,  1910).  J.  T.  Fields:  Hawthorne 
(Osgood,  1871;  Houghton);  Yesterdays  with  Authors  (Houghton,  1871).  Julian 
Hawthorne:  Hawthorne  and  His  Circle  (Harper,  1903).  Rose  Hawthorne  Lathrop: 
Memories  of  Hawthorne  (Houghton,  1897).  F.  B.  Sanborn:  Hawthorne  and  His 
Friends  (Torch  Press,  1908);  Recollections  of  Seventy  Years,  2  vols.  (Badger,  1909). 

CRITICISM.  Blackwood's  Magazine,  November,  1847  (The  American  Library). 
W.  C.  Brownell:  American  Prose  Masters  (Scribner,  1909)-  Maurice  Clare: 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  725 


Nathaniel  Hawthorne  (Doran,  1912).  G.  W.  Curtis:  Literary  and  Social  Essays 
(Harper,  1895);  North  American  Review,  October,  1864.  Edinburgh  Review, 
April,  1903  (The  Supernatural  in  Nineteenth-Century  Fiction);  January,  1906. 
John  Erskine:  Leading  American  Novelists  (Holt,  1910).  P.  H.  Frye:  Literary 
Reviews  and  Criticisms  (Putnam,  1908).  T.  W.  Higginson:  The  Hawthorne  Cen- 
tenary Celebration  (Houghton,  1905).  Julian  Hawthorne:  Atlantic  Monthly, 
April,  1886.  W.  D.  Howells:  My  Literary  Passions  (Harper,  1895).  R.  H.  Hutton: 
Essays,  Vol.  2  (Strahan,  1871;  Macmillan).  Andrew  Lang:  Adventures  among 
Books  (Longmans,  1905).  G.  P.  Lathrop:  A  Study  of  Hawthorne  (Osgood,  1876). 
Richard  Le  Gallienne:  Attitudes  and  Avowals  (Lane,  1910).  H.  W.  Mabie: 
Backgrounds  of  Literature  (Macmillan,  1903).  P.  E.  More:  Shelburne  Essays, 
First  and  Second  Series  (Putnam,  1904,  1905).  Bliss  Perry:  Park  Street  Papers 
(Houghton,  1908).  E.  A.  Poe:  Works,  Virginia  Edition,  Vols.  n,  13  (Crowell, 
1902;  reprints  of  articles  in  Graham's  Magazine,  May,  1842,  and  Godey's  Lady's 
Book,  November,  1847).  Quarterly  Review,  January,  1867;  January,  1883  (Amer- 
ican Novels).  H.  S.  Salt:  Literary  Sketches  (London,  1888).  W.  T.  Scott:  Ches- 
terton and  Other  Essays  (Methodist  Book  Concern,  1912).  Leslie  Stephen:  Hours 
in  a  Library,  Vol.  i  (Putnam,  1894).  H.  T.  Tuckerman:  Southern  Literary  Mes- 
senger, June,  1851. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.  A  Bibliography  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  by  N.  E.  Browne 
(Houghton,  1905).  First  Editions  of  Works  of  Hawthorne  (Grolier  Club,  1905; 
privately  printed). 

PATRICK  HENRY 

EDITION.  Life,  Correspondence,  and  Speeches,  ed.  by  W.  W.  Henry,  3  vols. 
(Scribner,  1891). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  George  Morgan:  The  True  Patrick  Henry 
(Lippincott,  1907).  Quarterly  Review,  December,  1840  (American  Orators  and 
Statesmen).  M.  C.  Tyler:  life  in  American  Statesmen  Series  (Houghton,  1888). 
William  Wirt:  Sketches  of  the  Life  and  Character  of  Patrick  Henry  (Philadelphia, 
1818;  second  edition,  corrected  by  the  author). 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

EDITIONS.  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  14  vols.  (Houghton).  Breakfast  Table 
Series  (including  Over  the  Tea-Cups),  4  vols.  (Houghton).  Autocrat  of  the  Break- 
fast Table,  Reprinted  from  the  Original  Edition  (Conkey  Co.,  1900);  with  intro- 
duction by  Richard  Burton  (Crowell,  1900);  ed.  by  M.  C.  Rounds  (Macmillan, 
1913);  in  Everyman's  Library  (Dutton,  1906).  Letters  to  a  Classmate,  in  the 
Century  Magazine,  October,  1907. 

BIOGRAPHY.  S.  M.  Crothers:  life  in  American  Men  of  Letters  Series  (Hough- 
ton,  in  preparation).  J.  T.  Morse,  Jr.:  Life  and  Letters  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 
2  vols.  (Houghton,  1896). — T.  W.  Higginson:  Old  Cambridge  (Macmillan,  1899). 
W.  D.  Howells:  Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance  (Harper,  1900).  Mary  R. 
Mitford:  Recollections  of  a  Literary  Life  (London,  1852).  G.  W.  Smalley:  Studies 
of  Men  (Harper,  1895).  J.  T.  Trowbridge:  My  Own  Story  (Houghton,  1903). 

CRITICISM.  Atlantic  Monthly,  April,  1861.  Critic,  August  30,  1884  (Holmes 
number).  S.  M.  Crothers:  Oliver  Wendell  Homes,  the  Autocrat  and  His  Fellow 


726  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Boarders  (Houghton,  1909;  first  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  August,  1909).  G.  W. 
Curtis:  Literary  and  Social  Essays  (Harper,  1895).  Edinburgh  Review,  April,  1910. 
H.  R.  Haweis:  American  Humourists  (Chatto,  1883;  Funk).  Walter  Jerrold: 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  (Macmillan,  1893).  Andrew  Lang:  Adventures  among 
Books  (Longmans,  1905).  Littell's  Living  Age,  March  5,  1859.  H.  C.  Lodge: 
Certain  Accepted  Heroes  and  Other  Essays  in  Literature  and  Politics  (Harper,  1897; 
this  essay  in  the  North  American  Review,  December,  1894).  Quarterly  Review, 
January,  1867  (Yankee  Humour);  January,  1895.  Leslie  Stephen:  Studies  of  a 
Biographer,  Vol.  2  (Duckworth,  1898;  Putnam).  Bayard  Taylor:  Critical  Essays 
and  Literary  Notes  (Putnam,  1880). 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.  Bibliography  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  by  G.  B.  Ives 
(Houghton,  1907). 

FRANCIS   HOPKINSON 

EDITIONS.  A  Pretty  Story  (Philadelphia,  1774);  reprint,  ed.  by  B.  J.  Lossing 
(New  York,  1857,  1864).  Miscellaneous  Essays  and  Occasional  Essays,  3  vols. 
(Philadelphia,  1792). 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

EDITIONS.  Works,  New  Knickerbocker  Edition,  40  vols.  (Putnam,  1891-97); 
Handy  Volume  Edition,  12  vols.  (Putnam,  1912);  Student's  Edition,  15  vols.  (12 
vols.  out)  (Putnam,  1912-14).  Alhambra,  ed.  by  A.  M.  Hitchcock  (Macmillan, 
1900).  Bracebridge  Hall  (Putnam,  1902).  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York 
(Putnam,  1902);  Books 3-7,  ed.  by  E.  A.  Greenlaw. (Macmillan,  1909).  Salmagundi, 
ed.  by  E.  A.  Duyckinck  (Putnam,  1902).  Sketch  Book  (Putnam,  1902);  reprint  of 
the  original  edition  (Conkey,  1900);  ed.  by  G.  P.  Krapp  (Scott,  Foresman,  1906); 
ed.  by  H.  A.  Davidson  (Heath,  1907);  ed.  by  A.  W.  Leonard  (Holt,  1911);  in  Every- 
man's Library  (Dutton,  1908);  ed.  by  T.  Balston  (Oxford  University  Press,  1913). 
Tales  of  a  Traveller,  introduction  by  Brander  Matthews,  notes  by  G.  R.  Carpenter 
(Longmans,  1895);  ed.  by  J.  R.  Rutland  (American  Book  Co.,  1911). 

BIOGRAPHY.  H.  W.  Boynton:  life  in  Riverside  Biographical  Series  (Houghton, 
1901).  P.  M.  Irving:  Life  and  Letters  of  Washington  Irving,  4  vols.  (Putnam, 
1862-63).  C.  D.  Warner:  life  in  American  Men  of  Letters  Series  (Houghton,  1881). 

CRITICISM.  American  Quarterly  Review,  March,  1829.  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine, June,  1822.  W.  C.  Bryant:  Prose  Writings,  Vol.  i  (Appleton,  1884;  this 
address,  1859).  G.  W.  Curtis:  Literary  and  Social  Essays  (Harper,  1895).  Edin- 
burgh Review,  August,  1820;  October,  1829;  April,  1835.  H.  R.  Haweis:  American 
Humourists  (Chatto,  1883;  Funk).  W.D.Howells:  My  Literary  Passions  (Harper, 
1895).  H.  W.  Mabie:  Backgrounds  of  Literature  (Macmillan,  1903).  W.  M. 
Payne:  Leading  American  Essayists  (Holt,  1910).  Quarterly  Review,  April,  1821; 
March,  1825;  June,  1839;  July,  1863.  W.  M.  Thackeray:  Nil  Nisi  Bonum,  in 
Roundabout  Papers  (1862). 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON 

EDITIONS.  Writings,  ed.  by  P.  L.  Ford,  12  vols.  (Putnam,  1904-5);  ed.  by 
A.  A.  Lipscomb  and  A.  E.  Bergh,  20  vols.  (Thomas  Jefferson  Memorial  Association, 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  727 


1903-4).   Autobiography,  ed.  by  P.  L.  Ford  (Putnam,  1914).   Letters  and  Addresses, 
ed.  by  W.  B.  Parker  and  Jonas  Viles  (Unit  Publishing  Co.,  1905;  Grosset). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  James  Bryce:  University  and  Historical 
Addresses  (Macmillan,  1913;  this  address,  1908).  W.E.Curtis:  The  True  Thomas 
Jefferson  (Lippincott,  1901).  W.  E.  Dodd :  Statesmen  of  the  Old  South  (Macmillan, 
1911).  H.  C.  Merwin:  life  in  Riverside  Biographical  Series  (Houghton,  1901). 
J.  T.  Morse,  Jr.:  life  in  American  Statesmen  Series  (Houghton,  1884).  James 
Schouler:  life  in  Makers  of  America  Series  (Dodd,  1893).  W.  P.  Trent:  Southern 
Statesmen  of  the  Old  Regime  (Crowell,  1897).  T.  E.  Watson:  life  in  Beacon 
Biographies  Series  (Small,  1900);  Life  and  Times  of  Thomas  Jefferson  (Appleton, 
1903)-  J-  S.  Williams:  Thomas  Jefferson  (Columbia  University  Press,  1913). 

SARAH  K.   KNIGHT 

EDITION.  The  Journals  of  Madame  Knight  and  Rev.  Mr.  Buckingham,  from 
the  Original  Manuscripts,  Written  in  1704  and  1710  (New  York,  1825). 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

EDITIONS.  Works,  ed.  by  J.  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay,  2  vols.  (Century  Co., 
1894);  ed.  by  J.  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay,  12  vols.  (Tandy  Co.,  1905).  Noted 
Speeches  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  including  the  Lincoln-Douglas  Debate,  ed.  by  L.  M. 
Briggs  (Moffat,  1911).  Speeches  and  Letters  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  in  Everyman's 
Library  (Dutton,  1907).  The  Wisdom  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  selected  and  edited  by 
Temple  Scott  (Brentano's,  1908). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  W.  E.  Curtis:  The  True  Abraham  Lincoln 
(Lippincott,  1903).  Norman  Hapgood:  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Man  of  the  People 
(Macmillan,  1899).  W.  H.  Herndon:  History  and  Personal  Recollections  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  3  vols.  (Belford,  1889).  J.  T.  Morse,  Jr.:  life  in  American 
Statesmen  Series,  2  vols.  (Houghton,  1893).  J.  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay:  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  a  History,  10  vols.  (Century  Co.,  1890).  J.  G.  Nicolay:  A  Short  Life 
of  Abraham  Lincoln  (Century  Co.,  1902).  Rose  Strunsky:  Abraham  Lincoln 
(Macmillan,  1914).  I.  M.  Tarbell:  The  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  2  vols.  (Double- 
day,  1900;  Macmillan).  Brand  Whitlock:  life  in  Beacon  Biographies  Series 
(Small,  1909). — James  Bryce:  University  and  Historical  Addresses  (Macmillan, 
1913;  this  address,  1909).  D.  K.  Dodge:  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Evolution  of 
His  Literary  Style  (University  of  Illinois,  1900).  R.  W.  Gilder:  Lincoln  the  Leader, 
and  Lincoln's  Genius  for  Expression  (Houghton,  1909).  Frederic  Harrison:  George 
Washington  and  Other  Addresses  (Macmillan,  1901).  H.  C.  Lodge:  Democracy 
of  the  Constitution  and  Other  Addresses  and  Essays  (Scribner,  1915).  J.  R.  Lowell: 
Political  Essays  (Houghton,  1871;  this  essay,  1864-5).  Helen  Nicolay:  Personal 
Traits  of  Abraham  Lincoln  (Century  Co.,  1912).  Carl  Schurz:  Abraham  Lincoln, 
an  Essay  (Houghton,  1891).  Goldwin  Smith:  Macmillan's  Magazine;  reprinted 
in  Littell's  Living  Age,  March  4,  1865. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.  Abraham  Lincoln,  a  Bibliography,  by  L.  E.  Russell  (Torch 
Press,  1910). 


728  AMERICAN  PROSE 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

EDITIONS.  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  n  vols.  (Houghton,  1890-92).  Prose 
Works,  Riverside  Edition,  7  vols.  (Houghton,  1899). 

BIOGRAPHY.  Ferris  Greenslet:  James  Russell  Lowell,  His  Life  and  Work 
(Houghton,  1905).  E.  E.  Hale,  Jr.:  life  in  the  Beacon  Biographies  Series  (Small, 
1899).  H.  E.  Scudder:  James  Russell  Lowell,  a  Biography,  2  vols.  (Houghton, 
1901).  Henry  van  Dyke:  life  in  the  English  Men  of  Letters  Series  (Macmillan,  in 
preparation). — Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1897.  E.  E.  Hale:  Lowell  and  His 
Friends  (Houghton,  1899).  T.  W.  Higginson:  Old  Cambridge  (Macmillan,  1899); 
Cheerful  Yesterdays  (Houghton,  1898);  Contemporaries  (Houghton,  1899).  W.  D. 
Howells:  Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance  (Harper,  1900).  Edwin  Mims: 
South  Atlantic  Quarterly,  January,  1902.  G.  W.  Smalley:  London  Letters  and 
Some  Others  (Harper,  1890).  R.  H.  Stoddard:  Recollections  Personal  and  Literary 
(Barnes,  1903).  J.  T.  Trowbridge  (Houghton,  1003).  M.  C.  Tyler:  Selections 
from  His  Letters  and  Diaries,  pp.  139-43  (Doubleday,  1911).  Barrett  Wendell: 
Stelligeri  (Scribner,  1893). 

CRITICISM.  Joel  Benton:  Century  Magazine,  November,  1891.  W.  C. 
Brownell:  American  Prose  Masters  (Scribner,  1909).  G.  W.  Curtis:  Orations  and 
Addresses,  Vol.  3  (Harper,  1894;  this  address,  1892).  Edinburgh  Review,  October, 
1891;  January,  1900.  Canon  Farrar:  Forum,  October,  1891.  W.  D.  Howells: 
My  Literary  Passions  (Harper,  1895).  Henry  James,  Jr.:  Essays  in  London  and 
Elsewhere  (Harper,  1893).  C.E.Norton:  Harper's  Magazine,  May,  1893.  Gustav 
Pollak:  International  Perspective  in  Criticism  (Dodd,  1914).  Quarterly  Review, 
July,  1902.  J.  J.  Reilly:  James  Russell  Lowell  as  a  Critic  (Putnam,  1915).  William 
Watson:  Excursions  in  Criticism  (Macmillan,  1893).  G.  E.  Woodberry:  Makers 
of  Literature  (Macmillan,  1900). 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.  A  Bibliography  of  James  Russell  Lowell,  by  G.  W.  Cooke 
(Houghton,  1906).  A  Bibliography  of  the  First  Editions  in  Book  Form  of  the 
Writings  of  James  Russell  Lowell,  by  J.  C.  Chamberlain  and  L.  S.  Livingston  (New 
York,  privately  printed,  1914). 

JOHN  MASON 

EDITIONS.  A  Brief  History  of  the  Pequot  War  (Boston,  1736;  written,  1670); 
reprint  in  Collections  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  Second  Series,  Vol.  8 
(Boston,  1819);  reprint,  ed.  by  Charles  Orr  (Cleveland,  1897). 

COTTON  MATHER 

EDITIONS.  The  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World  (Boston,  1693);  reprint  in 
Library  of  Old  Authors  Series  (London,  1862);  reprint  (Scribner).  Magnalia 
Christi  Americana:  or,  the  Ecclesiastical  History  of  New-England  (London,  1702); 
reprint,  2  vols.  (Hartford,  1820,  1855,  1870).  Bonifacius,  an  Essay  upon  the 
Good,  etc.  (Boston,  1710);  reprint  as  Essays  to  Do  Good  (Glasgow,  1825). 

BIOGRAPHY.  A.  P.  Marvin:  The  Life  and  Times  of  Cotton  Mather  (Congre- 
gational Publishing  Society,  1892).  Barrett  Wendell:  life  in  the  Makers  of  America 
Series  (Dodd,  1891).— G.  L.  Kittredge:  Cotton  Mather's  Election  into  the  Royal 
Society,  in  Publications  of  the  Colonial  Society  of  Massachusetts,  Vol.  14  (J.  Wilson's 
Son,  1912).  Outlook,  October  7,  14,  1905. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  729 


INCREASE  MATHER 

EDITIONS.  An  Essay  for  the  Recording  of  Illustrious  Providences  (Boston 
1684);  reprint  as  Remarkable  Providences  Illustrative  of  the  Earlier  Days  of 
American  Colonisation,  in  Library  of  Old  Authors  Series  (London,  1856;  Reeves, 
i8go);  reprint  (Scribner).  A  Further  Account  of  the  Tryals  of  the  New-England 
Witches  (London,  1693);  reprint  in  Library  of  Old  Authors  Series,  in  same  volume 
with  Cotton  Mather's  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World  (London,  1862). 
CRITICISM.  Andrew  Lang:  Letters  to  Dead  Authors  (Scribner,  1893). 

THOMAS  MORTON 

EDITIONS.  New  English  Canaan  (Amsterdam,  1637);  reprint  in  Force's 
Tracts,  Vol.  2  (Washington,  1836-46);  reprint,  ed.  by  C.  F.  Adams,  in  Publications 
of  the  Prince  Society  (Boston,  1883). 

THOMAS  PAINE 

EDITIONS.  Common  Sense  (Philadelphia,  1776).  Common  Sense  and  The 
American  Crisis  (Putnam,  1912).  The  Rights  of  Man,  in  Everyman's  Library 
(Dutton,  1915)-  Works,  ed.  by  M.  D.  Conway,  4  vols.  (Putnam,  1894-96). 

BIOGRAPHY.  M.  D.  Conway:  Life  of  Thomas  Paine,  2  vols.  (Putnam,  1892). 
Ellery  Sedgwick:  life  in  Beacon  Biographies  Series  (Small,  1809). 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

EDITIONS.  Works,  Virginia  Edition,  ed.  by  J.  A.  Harrison,  17  vols.  (Crowell, 
1902);  ed.  by  E.  C.  Stedman  and  G.  E.  Woodberry,  10  vols.  (Stone,  1894-95; 
Duffield);  ed.  by  C.  F.  Richardson,  10  vols.  (Putnam,  1904).  Tales,  5  vols.  (Put- 
nam). Essays  and  Stories,  in  Bohn  Popular  Library  (Macmillan,  1914).  Selections 
from  the  Critical  Writings,  ed.  by  F.  C.  Prescott  (Holt,  1909).  Last  Letters  of 
Edgar  Allan  Poe  to  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  ed.  by  J.  A.  Harrison  (Putnam,  1909). 

BIOGRAPHY.  J.  A.  Harrison:  life  in  Works,  Virginia  Edition,  Vol.  i  (Crowell, 
1902).  J.  H.  Ingram:  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  His  Life,  Letters,  and  Opinions,  2  vols. 
(Cassell,  1880;  second  edition,  i  vol.,  1886).  John  Macy:  life  in  Beacon  Biog- 
raphies Series  (Small,  1907).  W.  P.  Trent:  life  in  English  Men  of  Letters  Series 
(Macmillan,  in  preparation).  G.  E.  Woodberry:  The  Life  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
2  vols.  (Houghton,  1909;  enlarged  form  of  the  life  in  the  American  Men  of  Letters 
Series,  1885).— Joel  Benton:  In  the  Poe  Circle  (Mansfield,  1899).  P.  A.  Bruce: 
Background  of  Poe's  University  Life,  in  the  South  Atlantic  Quarterly,  July,  1911. 
R.  A.  Douglass-Lithgow:  Individuality  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  with  Numerous  Scarce 
Portraits  (Everett  Publishing  Co.,  1911).  E.  Lauvriere:  Edgar  Poe,  sa  vie  et  son 
ceuvre  (Paris,  1904).  R.  H.  Stoddard:  Recollections  Personal  and  Literary  (Barnes, 
1003).  S.  A.  Weiss:  The  Home  Life  of  Poe  (Broadway  Publishing  Co.,  1907). 
Sarah  H.  Whitman:  Poe  and  His  Critics  (New  York,  1860;  Tibbitts,  1885;  Preston 
&  Rounds  Co.).  N.  P.  Willis:  Hurrygraphs  (London  and  New  York,  1851). 

CRITICISM.  ArvedeBarine:  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  July  15,  August  i,  1897. 
Charles  Baudelaire:  Edgar  Poe,  sa  vie  et  ses  ceuvres,  in  Histoires  extraordinaires 
(Paris,  1852);  translated  by  H.  Curwen  (London,  1872).  W.  C.  Brownell:  Ameri- 
can Prose  Masters  (Scribner,  1909).  Palmer  Cobb:  The  Influence  of  E.  T.  A. 


730  AMERICAN  PROSE 


Hoffman  on  the  Tales  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe  (University  of  North  Carolina  Press, 
1908);  South  Atlantic  Quarterly,  January,  1000.  Edinburgh  Review,  April,  1858; 
April,  1903  (The  Supernatural  in  Nineteenth-Century  Fiction);  January,  1910. 
L.  E.  Gates:  Studies  and  Appreciations  (Macmillan,  1900).  Emile  Hennequin: 
Ecrivains  francises  (Paris,  1889).  Andrew  Lang:  Letters  to  Dead  Authors  (Scrib- 
ner,  1893).  H.  W.  Mabie:  Poe's  Place  in  American  Literature,  in  Works,  Virginia 
Edition,  Vol.  2  (Crowell,  1902).  J.  A.  Macy:  Atlantic  Monthly,  December,  1908. 
Brander  Matthews:  Inquiries  and  Opinions  (Scribner,  1907).  William  Minto: 
Fortnightly  Review,  July  i,  1880;  reprinted  in  Littell's  Living  Age,  September  u, 
1880.  Modern  Philology,  June,  1904.  P.  E.  More:  Shelburne  Essays,  First  Series 
(Putnam,  1004).  North  American  Review,  October,  1856.  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association,  March,  1904.  Arthur  Ransome:  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
a  Critical  Study  (Seeker,  1910).  J.  M.  Robertson:  New  Essays  towards  a  Critical 
Method  (Lane,  1897;  this  essay,  1885).  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  March, 
1850.  W.P.Trent:  Longfellow  and  Other  Essays  (Crowell,  1910).  University  of 
Virginia:  The  Book  of  the  Poe  Centenary,  1909  (University  of  Virginia,  1909). 
Barrett  Wendell:  The  Mystery  of  Education  (Scribner,  1909). 

MARY  ROWLANDSON 

EDITIONS.  The  Soveraignty  &  Goodness  of  God,  Being  a  Narrative  of  the 
Captivity  and  Restauration  of  Mrs.  Mary  Rowlandson  (Cambridge,  1682;  second 
edition);  facsimile  reprint,  by  H.  S.  Nourse  and  J.  E.  Thayer  (Lancaster,  1903); 
reprint  in  Narratives  of  the  Indian  Wars,  1675-99,  ed.  by  C.  H.  Lincoln  (Scribner, 

1913)- 

SAMUEL  SEABURY 

EDITION.  Free  Thoughts  on  the  Proceedings  of  the  Continental  Congress 
(New  York,  1774)- 

BIOGRAPHY.    W.  J.  Seabury:    Memoir  of  Bishop  Seabury  (Gorham,  1908). 

SAMUEL  SEWALL 

EDITION.  Diary  of  Samuel  Sewall,  1674-1729,  in  Collections  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Historical  Society,  Fifth  Series,  Vols.  5-7  (Boston,  1878-82). 

BIOGRAPHY.  N.  H.  Chamberlain:  Samuel  Sewall  and  the  World  He  Lived 
in  (DeWolfe). 

THOMAS  SHEPARD 

EDITIONS.  The  Sincere  Convert  (London,  1655).  Works,  with  a  Memoir  by 
J.  A.  Albro,  3  vols.  (Boston,  1853). 

JOHN  SMITH 

EDITIONS.  A  True  Relation  of  such  occurrences  and  accidents  of  noate  as 
hath  hapned  in  Virginia  since  the  first  planting  of  that  Collony  (London,  1608).  A 
Map  of  Virginia  (Oxford,  1612).  Works,  ed.  by  Edward  Arber,  in  English  Scholar's 
Library,  2  vols.  (Birmingham,  1884).  Travels  and  Works,  ed.  by  Edward  Arber, 
new  edition,  with  introduction  by  A.  G.  Bradley,  2  vols.  (Edinburgh,  1910).  Gen- 
erall  Historic  of  Virginia,  New  England  &  the  Summer  Isles,  together  with  The 
True  Travels,  Adventures  &  Observations,  and  A  Sea  Grammar,  2  vols.  (Macmillan, 
1907).  True  Travels  and  Adventures  of  Captain  John  Smith,  and  General  History 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  731 

of  Virginia,  New  England  and  the  Summer  Isles,  Books  1-3,  ed.  by  E.  A.  Benians 
(Putnam,  1909). 

BIOGRAPHY.  A.  G.  Bradley:  Captain  John  Smith  (Macmillan,  1905).  C.  H. 
A.Forbes-Lindsay:  Captain  John  Smith,  Adventurer  (Lippincott,  1907).  T.  Jenks: 
Captain  John  Smith  (Century  Co.,  1904).  Rossiter  Johnson:  Captain  John  Smith 
(Macmillan,  1915).  E.  B.  Smith:  Pocahontas  and  Captain  John  Smith  (Houghton, 
1906). 

HENRY  D.   THOREAU 

EDITIONS.  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  n  vols.  (Houghton,  1854-81);  River- 
side Pocket  Edition,  n  vols.  (Houghton,  1915);  Manuscript  Edition,  20  vols. 
(Houghton,  1006).  Works  (Cape  Cod,  Excursions,  The  Maine  Woods,  Walden,  A 
Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merrimack  Rivers),  5  vols.  (Crowell,  1914).  Walden,  ed. 
by  P.  H.  Allen  (Houghton,  1910);  ed.  by  R.  M.  Alden  (Longmans,  1910);  ed.  by 
Byron  Rees  (Macmillan,  1910);  with  introduction  by  T.  Watts-Dunton  (Oxford 
University  Press);  in  Everyman's  Library  (Dutton,  1908).  Familiar  Letters,  ed. 
by  F.  B.  Sanborn  (Houghton,  1894). 

BIOGRAPHY.  H.  S.  Salt:  life  in  Great  Writers  Series  (Scott,  1896;  bibliography 
by  J.  P.  Anderson,  British  Museum).  F.  B.  Sanborn:  life  in  American  Men  of 
Letters  Series  (Houghton,  1882). 

CRITICISM.  Atlantic  Monthly,  March,  October,  1865.  John  Burroughs: 
Indoor  Studies  (Houghton,  1889).  Catholic  World,  June,  1878.  G.  H.  Ellwanger: 
Idyllists  of  the  Countryside  (Dodd,  1896).  R.  W.  Emerson:  Thoreau,  in  Lectures 
and  Biographies  (Houghton,  1883;  this  essay  first  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  August, 
1862).  P.  A.  Graham:  Nature  in  Books  (London,  1891).  J.  R.  Lowell:  Literary 
Essays,  Vol.  i  (Houghton,  1890;  this  essay,  1865).  P.  E.  More:  Shelburne  Essays, 
First  and  Fifth  Series  (Putnam,  1904,  1908).  W.  M.  Payne:  Leading  American 
Essayists  (Holt,  1910).  F.  B.  Sanborn:  Recollections  of  Seventy  Years,  2  vols. 
(Badger,  1909).  Saturday  Review,  Vol.  18,  1864.  R.  L.  Stevenson:  Familiar 
Studies  of  Men  and  Books  (Chatto,  1882).  T.  Watts-Dunton:  Henry  Thoreau 
(Torch  Press,  1910). 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.  Bibliography  of  Henry  David  Thoreau,  by  F.  H.  Allen 
(Houghton,  1908). 

NATHANIEL  WARD 

EDITIONS.  The  Simple  Cobler  of  Aggawam  in  America  (London,  1647); 
reprint  in  Force's  Tracts,  Vol.  3  (Washington,  1836-46);  ed.,  with  Essay,  by 
Thomas  Waters  (Ipswich  Historical  Society,  1905). 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

EDITIONS.  Works,  ed.  by  W.  C.  Ford,  14  vols.  (Putnam,  1880-93).  Writings, 
ed.  by  L.  B.  Evans  (Putnam,  1908). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  P.  L.  Ford:  The  True  George  Washington 
(Lippincott,  1896).  W.  C.  Ford:  George  Washington,  2  vols.  (Scribner,  1900); 
life  in  Beacon  Biographies  Series  (Small,  1910).  E.  E.  Hale:  The  Life  of  George 
Washington  Studied  Anew  (Putnam,  1888).  Norman  Hapgood:  George  Washing- 
ton (Macmillan,  1901).  H.  C.  Lodge:  life  in  American  Statesmen  Series,  2  vols. 
(Houghton,  1889).  James  O'Boyle:  The  Life  of  George  Washington  (Longmans, 
1915).  Woodrow  Wilson:  George  Washington  (Harper,  1896).— C.W.  Eliot:  Four 


732  AMERICAN  PROSE 


American  Leaders  (American  Unitarian  Association,  1906).  Frederic  Harrison: 
George  Washington  and  Other  Addresses  (Macmillan,  1001).  W.  P.  Trent:  South- 
ern Statesmen  of  the  Old  Regime  (Crowell,  1897).  Henry  van  Dyke:  The  Amer- 
icanism of  Washington  (Harper,  1906). 

DANIEL  WEBSTER 

EDITIONS.  Writings  and  Speeches,  18  vols.  (Little,  1003).  The  Speeches  and 
Orations  (Little,  1902).  Daniel  Webster  for  Young  Americans,  Comprising  the 
Greatest  Speeches,  ed.  by  C.  F.  Richardson  (Little,  1906).  Select  Speeches,  ed.  by 
A.  J.  George  (Heath). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  S.  G.  Fisher:  The  True  Daniel  Webster  (Lippin- 
cott,  1911).  H.  C.  Lodge:  life  in  American  Statesmen  Series  (Houghton,  1884); 
A  Fighting  Frigate  and  Other  Essays  and  Addresses  (Scribner,  1902).  J.  B. 
McMaster:  Daniel  Webster  (Century  Co.,  1902). — Brownson's  Quarterly  Review, 
January,  1852.  Mellen  Chamberlain:  John  Adams,  with  Other  Essays  and  Ad- 
dresses (Houghton,  1898).  Edinburgh  Review,  June,  1829.  Edward  Everett: 
Orations  and  Speeches,  Vols.  3  and  4  (Little,  1850-68).  G.  F.  Hoar:  Scribner's 
Magazine,  July,  1899.  H.  N.  Hudson:  Essays  on  English  Studies  (Ginn,  1006;  this 
address,  1882).  North  American  Review,  July,  1852.  Proceedings  of  the  Webster 
Centennial  at  Dartmouth  College,  1901  (Hanover,  1001).  Quarterly  Review, 
December,  1840.  E.  P.  Whipple:  Essays  and  Reviews,  Vol.  i  (New  York,  1848; 
this  essay  first  in  the  North  American  Review,  July,  1844). 

ROGER  WILLIAMS 

EDITIONS.  The  Bloudy  Tenent  of  Persecution  for  cause  of  Conscience,  dis- 
cuss'd  in  a  Conference  betweene  Truth  and  Peace  (London,  1644).  Life,  Letters, 
and  Works,  in  Publications  of  the  Narragansett  Club,  6  vols.  (Providence,  1866-74). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  E.  J.  Carpenter:  Roger  Williams  (Grafton  Press, 
1909).  O.  S.  Strauss:  Life  of  Roger  Williams  (Century  Co.,  1894). 

JOHN  WINTHROP 

EDITIONS.  The  History  of  New  England  from  1630  to  1649,  from  His  Original 
Manuscripts,  ed.  by  James  Savage,  2  vols.  (Boston,  1825-26);  ed.  by  J.  K.  Hosmer, 
2  vols.  (Scribner,  1908).  Some  Old  Puritan  Love-Letters,  1618-38,  ed.  by  J.  H. 
Twichell  (Dodd,  1893). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  J.  H.  Twichell:  life  in  Makers  of  America  Series 
(Dodd,  1891).  R.  C.  Winthrop:  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Winthrop,  2  vols.  (Little, 
1863). — Andrew  Macphail:  Essays  in  Puritanism  (Houghton,  1905). 

JOHN  WOOLMAN 

EDITIONS.  A  Journal  of  the  Life,  Gospel  Labours,  and  Christian  Experiences 
of  That  Faithful  Minister  of  Jesus  Christ,  John  Woolman  (Philadelphia,  1774;  in 
Works).  Journal,  with  introduction  by  J.  G.  Whittier  (Osgood,  1873;  new  edition, 
Houghton,  1909).  Journal,  with  Other  Writings  (Macmillan,  1903);  in  Everyman's 
Library,  with  introduction  by  V.  D.  Scudder  (Dutton,  1910). 

BIOGRAPHY  AND  CRITICISM.  J.  F.  Newton:  Wesley  and  Woolman  (Abingdon 
Press,  1914).  W.T.  Shore:  John  Woolman,  His  Life  and  Times  (Macmillan,  1914). 
G.  M.  Trevelyan:  Clio,  a  Muse,  and  Other  Essays  (Longmans,  1913). 


INDICES 


INDICES 

INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Allen,  Ethan  (1737-80),  200 

Bradford,  William  (c.  1590-1657),  7 
Byrd,  William  (1674-1744),  113 

Calhoun,  John  C.  (1782-1850),  589 
Cotton,  John  (1585-1652),  34 
Crevecoeur,  J.  Hector  St.  John  (1731- 
1813),  138 

Dickinson,  John  (1732-1808),  176 

Edwards,  Jonathan  (1703-58),  122 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  (1803-82),  345 

Franklin,  Benjamin  (1706-90),  148 

Hamilton,  Alexander  (1757-1804),  216 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel  (1804-64),  406 
Henry,  Patrick  (1736-99),  197 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  (1809-94),  498 
Hopkinson,  Francis  (1737-91),  183 

Irving,  Washington  (1783-1859),  224 
Jefferson,  Thomas  (1743-1826),  205 
Knight,  Sarah  K.  (1666-1727),  105 


Lincoln,  Abraham  (1800-65),  647 
Lowell,  James  Russell  (1819-91),  536 

Mason,  John  (c.  i6oo-c.  1672),  50 
Mather,  Cotton  (1663-1728),  71 
Mather,  Increase  (1639-1723),  63 
Morton,  Thomas  ( ?-c.  1646),  16 

Paine,  Thomas  (1737-1809),  202 
Poe,  Edgar  Allan  (1809-49),  280 

Rowlandson,  Mary  ( ),  54 

Seabury,  Samuel  (1729-96),  180 
Sewall,  Samuel  (1652-1730),  89 
Shepard,  Thomas  (1605-49),  29 
Smith,  John  (1579-1631),  i 

Thoreau,  Henry  D.  (1817-62),  474 

Ward,  Nathaniel  (c.  1578-1652),  42 
Washington,  George  (1732-99),  209 
Webster,  Daniel  (1782-1852),  608 
Williams,  Roger  (c.  1600-83),  33 
Winthrop,  John  (1588-1649),  17 
Woolman,  John  (1720-72),  133 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


A  Bewitched  Child  (from  Magnalia 
Christi  Americana),  83 

A  Bewitched  House  (from  An  Essay  for 
the  Recording  of  Illustrious  Provi- 
dences), 63 

A  Boyish  Leader  (from  The  Autobiog- 
raphy of  Benjamin  Franklin),  148 

Abraham  Lincoln,  544 

A  Brief  History  of  the  Pequot  War,  50 

A  Colonial  Schoolmaster  (from  The 
History  of  New  England),  20 

Address  at  Cooper  Institute,  647 

Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Gettys- 
burg National  Cemetery,  666 


A  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom,  280 

A  History  of  New  York,  224 

A  Letter  to  the  President  of  Congress, 
211 

A  Map  of  Virginia,  4 

A  Narrative  of  Col.  Ethan  Allen's 
Captivity,  200 

A  Narrative  of  the  Captivity,  54 

An  Essay  for  the  Recording  of  Illustri- 
ous Providences,  63 

Answer  to  Congress  on  His  Appointment 
as  Commander-in-Chief,  209 

Anti-Episcopal  Mice  (from  The  His- 
tory of  New  England),  23 


735 


736 


AMERICAN  PROSE 


A  Pretty  Story,  183 

A  Progress  to  the  Mines,  119 

A   Puritan   Blue-Stocking    (from   The 

History  of  New  England),  25 
A  Puritan  to  His  Wife,  17 
A  Reply  to  the  Aforesaid  Answer  of 

Mr.  Cotton  (from  The  Bloudy  Tenent 

of  Persecution),  36 
A  Spiritual  Vision  (from  The  Journal  of 

John  Woolman),  136 
A    Theological    Commonwealth    (from 

The  History  of  New  England),  19 
A  True  Relation,  i 
At  Sea  (from  Leaves  from  My  Journal 

in  Italy  and  Elsewhere),  536 

Behavior,  391 

Benevolent  Cunning  (from  The  Auto- 
biography of  Benjamin  Franklin),  156 
Brute  Neighbors  (from  Walden),  487 

Captain  Phips's  Search  for  Sunken 
Treasure  (from  Magnalia  Christi 
Americana),  77 

Carlyle,  564 

Common  Sense,  202 

Dialogue   between    Franklin   and    the 

Gout,  1 68 
Divine  Discipline  (from  The  History  of 

New  England),  23 
Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment,  418 

Enquiry  into  the  Freedom  of  the  Will, 
128 

Entrance  into  Philadelphia  (from  The 
Autobiography  of  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin), 150 

Farewell  Address,  214 

Feathertop;  a  Moralized  Legend,  455 

Free  Thoughts  on  the  Proceedings  of  the 
Continental  Congress,  180 

Further  Defects  of  the  Present  Constitu- 
tion (from  The  Federalist),  216 

Heresy  Punished    (from  The  History 

of  New  England),  24 
History  of  the  Dividing  Line,  113 

John  Eliot,  Apostle  to  the  Indians  (from 
Magnalia  Christi  Americana),  82 

Learning  to  Write  (from  The  Autobiog- 
raphy of  Benjamin  Franklin),  149 


Leaves  from  My  Journal  in  Italy  and 

Elsewhere,  536 
Legend  of  the  Arabian  Astrologer  (from 

The  Alhambra),  264 
Letters  (of  Benjamin  Franklin),  173 
Letters  from  a  Farmer  in  Pennsylvania, 

176 
Letters  from  an  American  Farmer,  138 

Magnalia  Christi  Americana,  77 

Nature,  377 

New  English  Canaan,  16 

Of  Plimoth  Plantation,  7 

On  Snakes;  and  on  the  Humming  Bird 

(from    Letters    from    an    American 

Farmer),  142 

Preternatural  Phenomena  (from  The 
History  of  New  England),  25 

Probation  of  Witches  by  Cold  Water 
(from  An  Essay  for  the  Recording  of 
Illustrious  Providences),  67 

Rappaccini's  Daughter,  428 

Religion  (from  The  Autobiography  of 
Benjamin  Franklin),  151 

Religious  Scruples  against  Dyed  Gar- 
ments (from  The  Journal  of  John 
Woolman),  134 

Rip  Van  Winkle  (from  The  Sketch 
Book),  229 

Second  Inaugural  Address,  667 
Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  God, 

124 
Slavery    (from  The  Journal   of  John 

Woolman),  133 
Speech  in  the  Virginia  Convention  of 

Delegates,  197 

Speech  on  the  Slavery  Question,  589 
Success  in  Business  (from  The  Auto- 
biography of  Benjamin  Franklin),  151 

Tales  of  a  Traveller,  252 

The  Alhambra,  264 

The  American  Scholar,  345 

The  Answer  of  Mr.  John  Cotton  (from 

The  Bloudy  Tenent  of  Persecution), 

34 
The    Autobiography      (of     Benjamin 

Franklin),  148 
The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table, 

498 


INDICES 


737 


The  Bloudy  Tenent  of  Persecution  for 

Cause  of  Conscience,  33 
The  Constitution  and  the  Union,  608 
The  Declaration  of  Independence,  205 
The  Diary  (of  Samuel  Sewall),  89 
The  Ephemera,  166 
The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,  295 
The  Federalist,  216 
The  First  Winter   (from   Of   Plimoth 

Plantation),  n 

The  History  of  New  England,  19 
The  Impious  Doctrine  of  Toleration 

(from   The    Simple    Cobler   of   Ag- 

gawam),  42 

The  Journal  (of  John  Woolman),  133 
The  Journal  (of  Sarah  K.  Knight),  105 
The  Minister's  Black  Veil,  406 
The  Mutability  of  Literature  (from  The 

Sketch  Book),  243 
The  Over-Soul,  362 
The  Pilgrims'  Search  for  a  Harbor  (from 

Of  Plimoth  Plantation),  7 
The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,  313 
The  Preface  (from  The  Bloudy  Tenent 

of  Persecution),  33 
The  Purloined  Letter,  327 
The  Pursuit  of  Moral  Perfection  (from 

The    Autobiography    of    Benjamin 

Franklin),  152 

The  Simple  Cobler  of  Aggawam,  42 
The  Sincere  Convert,  29 
The  Sketch  Book,  229 
The  Snake  in  the  Synod   (from  The 

History  of  New  England),  27 


The  Special  Hand  of  God  (from  The 

History  of  New  England),  28 
The  Strolling  Manager  (from  Tales  of 

a  Traveller),  252 
The  Sweet  Glory  of  God,  122 
The  Trial  of  Bridget  Bishop:    alias, 

Oliver   (from  The  Wonders  of  the 

Invisible  World),  71 
The    Unanimous    Declaration    of    the 

Thirteen  United  States  of  America, 

205 

The  Way  to  Wealth,  158 
The  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World,  71 
Thomas  Hooker  (from  Magnalia  Christi 

Americana),  80 
To  Benjamin  Webb,  174 
To  Mrs.  Jane  Mecom,  173 
To  Mrs.  Martha  Washington,  209 
To  Samuel  Mather,  175 

Ungodly  Doings  at  Merry  Mount  (from 
Of  Plimoth  Plantation),  14 

Walden,  474 

What  Is  an  American?  (from  Letters 

from  an  American  Farmer),  138 
Where  I  Lived,  and  What  I  Lived  For 

(from  Walden),  474 

Whitefield's  Eloquence  (from  The  Auto- 
biography   of    Benjamin    Franklin), 

155 
Witchcraft  (from  The  History  of  New 

England),  26 
Women's  Fashions  and  Long  Hair  on 

Men   (from  The   Simple   Cobler  of 

Aggawam),  46 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DEC  6    1981 


Form  L9-20wi-9,'61(C3106s4)444 


A     000  029  648     3 


in  i 


